When we were idlers with the loitering rills, 
The need of human love we little noted: 
   Our love was nature; and the peace that floated 
On the white mist, and dwelt upon the hills, 
To sweet accord subdued our wayward wills: 
   One soul was ours, one mind, one heart devoted, 
   That, wisely doting, ask’d not why it doted, 
And ours the unknown joy, which knowing kills. 
But now I find how dear thou wert to me; 
   That man is more than half of nature’s treasure, 
Of that fair beauty which no eye can see, 
   Of that sweet music which no ear can measure; 
   And now the streams may sing for others’ pleasure, 
The hills sleep on in their eternity. 

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