Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, But leave---oh leave the light of Hope behind.

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On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

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It may be strange—yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding,...

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Without the smile from partial beauty won, Oh what were man?—a world without a sun.

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Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, But leave---oh! leave the light of Hope behind.

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