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DECAY.

THE BLIND GIRL'S LAMENT. I

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THE BLIND GIRL'S LAMENT. I IT is not that I cannot see The birds and fiow'rs of spring, 'Tis not that beauty seems to me A dreary, unknown thing It is not that I cannot mark The blue and splendid sky, Nor ocean's foam, nor mountain's peak, That e'er I weep or sigh. They tell me that the birds, whose notes Fall rich, and sweet and full, That then I listen to, and love, Are not all beautiful! They tell me that the gayest flower, Which sunshine ever brings, Are not the ones I know so well, But strange and scentless things! My little brother leads me forth To where the violets grow; His gentle, light, yet careful step, And tiny hand I know. My mother's voice is soft and sweet, Like music on my car; The very atmosphere seems love, When these to me are near. My father twines his arms around, And draws me to his breast, To kiss the poor blind, helpless girl, He says he loves the best. 'Tis thus I ponder unknown things, It may be-weep or sigh, And think how glorious it must be To meet Affection's KYK. Mus. HEMANS.

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