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O'er the woods the moon's afloat,
Leaves move softly in-the breeze,
Midst the branching alder trees
Sounds the horn its plaintive note..
Farther through the forest deep,
Farther yet, and yet more faint,
Blows again its sweet complaint,
Promise of eternal sleep.
While my heart to you is born
Why does fade away your sound?
Will you once for me resound
Melancholy hunter's horn?
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