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The shadow still the same;
And on my heavy eyelids
My anguish hangs like shame.
11.
Alas for her that met me,
That heard me softly call,
Came glimmering thro' the laurels
At the quiet evenfall,
In the garden by the turrets
Of the old manorial hall.
12.
Would the happy spirit descend,
From the realms of light and song,
In the chamber or the street,
As she looks among the blest,
