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JOYS OF YOUTH, HOW FLEETING!
WHISP'RINGS, HEARD BY WAKEFUL MAIDS,
Whisp'Rings, heard by wakeful maids,
To whom the night-stars guide us
Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting !
Hear me but once, while o'er thy grave,
In which our love lies cold and dead, I count each flatt'ring hope he gave
Of joys now lost and charms now fled.
Who could have thought the smile he wore,
When first we met, would fade away? Or that a chill would e'er come o'er
Those eyes, so bright through many a day.