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I love the blush of early morn,
That beams with rosy hue;
When sparkling o'er the verdant lawn,
It gems the crystal dew.


'Tis then I muse on Mary's smile,
That dimpling bright and fair,
My sorrow always can beguile,
And charm each latent care.


I love the mildly pensive ray,
That lonely twilight cheers:
When gleaming at the close of day,
It shines through evening's tears.


'Tis then fond memory softly says,
While throbs my bosom move--
That such is Mary's tender gaze,
And such her glance of love.