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- —Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree stands
- Far from all human dwelling: what if here
- No sparkling rivulet spread the verdant herb;
- What if these barren boughs the bee not loves;
- Yet, if the wind breathe soft, the curling waves,
- That break against the shore, shall lull thy mind
- By one soft impulse saved from vacancy.
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