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STRAY LEAVES FROM A BOOK OF HOURS.

DAY.

Half sad, yet sweet, I linger but a while,

As purple clouds around a setting sun;

Scarce longer than a tear, or flitting smile,

Or shadows thrown across the rippling run

Of some swift mountain stream. I may not stay,

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But wander on, - a restless, silent sprite, -

An airy fairy, come from realms of Day,

And lost in dark, mysterious shade of Night.

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