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Thou’rt not alone—the greenwood’s shades are round thee,
When summer comes, with all her joyous train;
And playful winds at eve have often found thee,
And murmured in thine ear Hope’s sweetest strain.
Thou’rt not alone—each gaily tinted flower,
That smiling greets us on the dewy lea,
The painted clouds at sunset’s golden hour,
To me are friends, and should be so to thee.
Thou’rt not alone—the red stars gleaming o’er thee,