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Why, why repine, my pensive friend,
At pleasures slipt away?
Some the stern Fates will never lend,
And all refuse to stay.


I see the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass,
I see them, and I ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.


With folded arms I linger not
To call them back; 'twere vain;
In this, or in some other spot,
I know they'll shine again.