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To Miss Eliza As soft as falls the silken shade, Let every sorrow be, That grief or care, as hope delayed May ever cast on thee. And let each joy be pure and bright As dew on infant flowers, A tender theme of new delight, To cheer thy lonely hours, And quietly glide thine hours away As music from the string, Of woodland lyre, while o'er it stay, The wondering sweet of Spring. And as a sweet melotious [sic] lay, Dies on the still of even; So let thy being melt away, And mingle into heaven Your Friend J F H July 15th 1857