BEREFT of sight, I grope along
In darkness, 'neath the sun's bright rays;
Alike to me are nights or days,
Deserted hall or gayest throng;
My rayless eyes are turned in vain
To heaven! Of what do I complain?
Sweet sounds delight my quickened ear;
A touch, how exquisitely clear
To me it speaks; - for me the rose
Doth all its rich perfume unclose.
In lonely dell, all else is still,
Is heard the music of the rill;
The babble of the tiny brook,
Just where the streamlet first forsook
The parent spring to wander free
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