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Those languid eyes remove,
And tempt my heart to Love;
The Though Love's gentle power can more sweetness
vale, Give their dyes to the meadows, their sweets to the
gale, From the sun-beam, the shower, and the soft-falling
Receive all their treasures of odour, and hue.
When Winter extends his tyrannical reign,
Fades every gay blossom that painted the plain, And all the bright offspring of sunshine and
Shrink up at the blast of December's stern hours,
Than the vi'let or woodbine, the jasmine or rose,
Yet none of them holds so precarious perfume,
A texture so tender, so fleeting a bloom.
All it's sweetness it draws like the Daughters of MAY From Pity's soft dew, and from Kindness' mild ray, Like them it will shrink from the frost of Disdain, But never like them will it blossom again.