THERE come dull days in love's clear atmosphere,
When clouds and doubt obscure the wide expanse.
The woods are still; no songs of birds entrance;
No sunlight falls, and desolate and drear,
As if harmonious with the lurking fear
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Which sucks love's peace, the leaden waves that glance
From rock-bound coast the general gloom enhance;
And spectral winds are wailing far and near.
When suddenly, and oft in darkest hour,
I hear some strain of music, or some voice,
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Or some of thy drear writing chance I see,
When, lo! The spell is broken, and the power
Of darkness, earth, and sea, and sky rejoice,
And all my being thrills with songs of thee.