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Edith, the silent stars are coldly gleaming, / The night wind moans, the leafless trees are still. …
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Lady, there is a hope that all men have,— / Some mercy for their faults, a grassy place …
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My highway is unfeatured air, / My consorts are the sleepless Stars, …
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No abbey’s gloom, nor dark cathedral stoops, / No winding torches paint the midnight air; …
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The swallow is flying over, / But he will not come to me; …
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On your bare rocks, O barren moors, / On your bare rocks I love to lie!— …
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Our boat to the waves go free, / By the bending tide, where the curled wave breaks, …