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Alas! fond dream! that maid is dead—
The gard'ner plucks a rose,
And pluck'd—it fades, it hangs its head,
And pale and paler grows.
I pluck'd a rose—that rose I plac'd
Upon my breast—the gem,
My eager breast a moment grac'd,
Then sunk upon its stem.Kdes holubičko blaudila.
O whence dost thou come—thou golden dove,
Thy wings are weary—thy plumes are wet—
Whence, wanderer! dost thou come?
"All over the seas I sought my love,
And I am hasting—hasting yet,
To our own—our mountain home."