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ANACREONTIQUE by THOMAS MOORE

First Line: FRIEND OF MY SOUL! THIS GOBLET SIP
Last Line: THE HEART CAN BLOOM NO MORE!

FRIEND of my soul! this goblet sip,
'Twill chase that pensive tear;
'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip,
But, oh! 'tis more sincere.
Like her delusive beam,
'Twill steal away thy mind:
But, like Affection's dream,
It leaves no sting behind!

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade;
These flow'rs were cull'd at noon; --
Like woman's love the rose will fade,
But, ah! not half so soon!
For though the flower's decay'd,
Its fragrance is not o'er;
But once when love 's betray'd,
The heart can bloom no more!



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