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Mine are the stars there, ever as ye gaze, Ye meet the deep spell of my haunting eyes; Mine is the moon and, mournful if her rays, 'Tis that she lingers where her Carian lies. The flowers are mine the blushes of the rose, The violet charming Zephyr to the shade; Mine the quick light that in the Maybeam glows, And mine the day-dream in the lonely glade.