Viii

"While thou art mine, my little Love, This cannot be a sorrowful grove; Contentment, hope, and mother's glee, I seem to find them all in thee: Here's grass to play with, here are flowers; I'll call thee by my darling's name; Thou hast, I think, a look of ours, Thy features seem to me the same; His little sister thou shalt be; And, when once more my home I see, I'll tell him many tales of Thee."

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