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| - t, All melodies the echoes of that voice,All colours a suffusion from that light.VIThere was a time when, though my path was rough, This joy within me dallied with distress,And all misfortunes were but as the stuff Whence Fancy made me dreams of happiness :For hope grew round me, like the twining vine,And fruits, and foliage, not my own, seemed mine.But now afflictions bow me down to earth :Nor ca
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