| The first time I saw you, it was a summer day
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| in the morning, when the sun was shining brightly,
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| and all the flowers of the meadow of many hundreds,
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| they stood bowing in pairs by pairs.
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| And the wind blew so slowly, and down by the shore,
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| there a wave slipped lovingly to the snail in the sand.
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| The first time I saw you, it was a summer day,
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| the first time I took you by the hand.
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| The first time I saw you, then the summer sky shone,
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| as dazzling as the swan in its garb.
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| Then it came from the forest, from the green edges of the forest
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| as well as a jubilation from the sound of birds.
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| Then a song sounded from heaven, as beautiful as no other;
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| it was the little lark gray, so hard to observe.
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| The first time I saw you, the summer sky shone
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| as dazzling and close as ever.
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| And therefore when I see you, even in the day of winter,
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| when the drift is glittering and cold,
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| probably I hear the summer winds and the fresh beats of the lark
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| and the noise of the wave in all full cases.
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| I think green plants pull out of a downy bed
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| with cornflowers and with clover leaves, as a loving please,
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| that the summer sun shines on your features,
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| as blushing and as radiating and captivating. |