.Nu spelar vårens ljumma vind I myrens gula starr,
Och sakta stiga sagorna kring ön I Berga fors.
Förlåt ett stänk av bitter fröjd, en visa till gitarr,
Det starka oss till läkedom likt strandens unga pors.
En sång till dig, min syster, näare all marken väntar våare!
I .
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