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I meant to bid thee, sweet, farewell,
But it was not to be;
I check the words I would have said,
And stay, my love, with thee.


I cannot live from thee apart;
From banishment I shrink,
As from the black and bitter night
Of Acheron's dark brink.


Thy light is as the light of day,
And yet the day is dumb;
But thy soft murmuring voice I hear
When thou again art come.


That voice to me is sweeter far
Than any Siren's tongue;
And all my hopes and all my joys
Are on those accents hung.