Shadows (Howe)/A Treasure House

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A TREASURE HOUSE
THE poet's song, the painter's art,Are richest when they tell but part;{{{text}}}We hear the sweetest player, and thrillWith dreams of music sweeter still;
The spring's first brightness is so dearBecause we feel the summer near;—
Shall I not love my love the moreFor keeping wealths of love in store?
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