"Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the
white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porph’ry font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.
"
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