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Evening Songs
XXVIII
What matters it what in sweet songs
The nightingale is telling,
Since my own heart has left its place
And now with Thee ’tis dwelling.
And if her call rang e’er so sweet
And into mine ears chanted:
What matters it, since in my heart
And soul now Thou art planted!
And there Thou art, so charmful,
Beyond imagination,
That I’d give the sky’s stars, my soul,
To Thee in admiration.
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