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- The woods were long austere with snow: at last
Pink leaflets budded on the beech, and fast1036 lines - And the font took them: let our laurels lie!
Braid moonfern now with mystic trifoly1048 lines - Is it the same Sordello in the dusk
As at the dawn?--merely a perished husk1038 lines - Meantime Ferrara lay in rueful case;
The lady-city, for whose sole embrace1047 lines - The thought of Eglamor's least like a thought,
And yet a false one, was, "Man shrinks to nought894 lines
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