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The Literary Gazette, 12th May 1827, page 300
SONG.
The desert hath a dreary waste
Of burning sand and sky;
But even there the fount and palm
Beside the pathway lie:
There may the tired pilgrim rest
Upon his wearied race.—
I would the wilderness of Love
Could boast such resting place:
But sultry sky and endless sands,
These, O Love! are for thee—
Thy constant destiny: alas,
That such should be for me!L. E. L.
