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POEMS OF EMILY BRONTË
This glorious vision of a grove,
With flowers beneath and fruits above,
Lies in that city's human sea
Whose streets stretch round so ceaselessly.
Oh! who could pass unnoticed by
This scene of nature's royalty?
Instead of birds to warble there,
Ethereal music fills the air,
Breathed from these halls thrown open wide
To admit the ever-changing tide
Of Earth and Afric's hope and pride.
