| Here many days once gently past me crept
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| in this dear town of old forgetfulness;
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| here all entwined in dreams once long i slept
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| and heard no echo of the world’s distress
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| For here the castle and the mighty tower,
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| more grey and dim than long cold autumn rain,
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| sleep, nor sunlit moment nor triumphal hour,
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| wakes their old lords too long in slumber lain.
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| Like moments clustered in a crowded year,
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| today’s great sadness, or tomorrow’s fear;
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| faint echoes fade within their drowsy halls
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| like ghost; |
| the daylight creeps across their walls. |