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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard. Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd. Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave.

Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss. Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss. For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!