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45

There’s something quieter than sleep

Within this inner room!

It wears a sprig upon its breast —

And will not tell its name.

Some touch it, and some kiss it —

Some chafe its idle hand —

It has a simple gravity

I do not understand!

I would not weep if I were they

How rude in one to sob!

Might scare the quiet fairy

Back to her native wood!

While simple-hearted neighbors

Chat of the «Early dead» —

We — prone to periphrasis

Remark that Birds have fled!

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