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<h2>TO THE MOON. </h2>
<p><span class="i0">O lovely moon, how well do I recall</span> <span class="i0">The time,—’tis just a year—when up this hill</span>
<span class="i0">I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee:</span>
<span class="i0">And thou suspended wast o’er yonder grove,</span>
<span class="i0">As now thou art, which thou with light dost fill.</span>
<span class="i0">But stained with mist, and tremulous, appeared</span>
<span class="i0">Thy countenance to me, because my eyes</span>
<span class="i0">Were filled with tears, that could not be suppressed;</span>
<span class="i0">For, oh, my life was wretched, wearisome,</span>
<span class="i0">And <i>is</i> so still, unchanged, belovèd moon!</span>
<span class="i0">And yet this recollection pleases me,</span> <span class="i0">This computation of my sorrow’s age.</span> <span class="i0">How pleasant is it, in the days of youth,</span> <span class="i0">When hope a long career before it hath,</span> <span class="i0">And memories are few, upon the past</span> <span class="i0">To dwell, though sad, and though the sadness last!</span></p>
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