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The fair summer flowers
Are faded and flown,
The leaves of the bowers
Wan-stricken and strown;
Like the hopes of my bosom,
All vanished and o'er,
They are blighted, to blossom
No more--never more!


Yet flowers in the valley
And leaves on the bower,
Shall again flourish gaily
To sunshine and shower;
O! as fair will they blossom
As those gone before,
But new hopes in my bosom,
No more--never more!