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- MY days have been so wondrousfree,
- The little birds that fly
- With careless ease from tree to tree,
- Were but as bless'd as I.
- Ask gliding waters, if a tear
- Of mine increas'd their stream?
- Or ask the flying gales, if e'er
- I lent one sigh to them?
- But now my former days retire,
- And I'm by beauty caught;
- The tender chains of sweet desire
- Are fix'd upon my thought.
- Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines!
- Ye swains that haunt the grove!
- Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds!
- Ye close retreats of love!
- With all of nature, all of art,
- Assist the dear design;
- Oh teach a young, unpractic'd heart
- To make my Nancy mine!
- The very thought of change I hate,
- As much as of despair;
- Nor ever covet to be great,
- Unless it be for her.
- 'Tis true, the passion in my mind
- Is mix'd with soft distress;
- Yet while the fair I love is kind,
- I cannot wish it less.
- Thomas Parnell
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