  Where in spring the sweetest flowers Fill Mount KaminÁbi's bowers, Where in autumn dyed with red, Each ancient maple rears its head, And Aska's flood, with sedges lin'd, As a belt the mound doth bind:— There see my heart—a reed that sways, Nor aught but love's swift stream obeys, And now, if like the dew, dear maid, Life must fade, then let it fade:— My secret love is not in vain, For thou lov'st me back again. |
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