Eliza Acton

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How sacred is the lightest thing
Which wakes a thought of thee !--
The wild-flow'r's lonely blossoming;
The young spring-zephyr's laden wing,
Are spells, which to my bosom bring
Rich tides of memory!

Soft tones of music floating far
At ev'ning o'er the sea;--
The trembling of the twilight star,
When not a cloud hath dar'd to mar
Its dewy smiles,--but sweet dreams are
Which lead my soul to thee!

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Eliza Acton