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WITHIN my bosom stirs once more to-night

A voice of song. Love, erewhile slumbering,

Intones his mystery, and the flowers of spring

Relive and bloom. Winter, forbear to smite

My heart’s late flowers. Listen! From left and right

Through the green boughs the bulbul’s note is heard,

And, wing-clipt and imprisoned, my heart’s bird

Flutters against his barriers, wild for flight.