How happily, how happily, the flowers die away! / Oh! Could we but return to earth as easily as they.
Fruit forced is never half so sweet / As that comes quite in season.
After long absence, of return / To my dear home - Oh, happiness! / To lie in blissful consciousness / Of all around: The picture there - / The books - the flower-glass filled with care / By a kind hand - And then to know, / 'Twas but to rise, and meet below / Such a heart's welcome!
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