Deadness of the Country
O no, 'twas lifeless here, he said,
To him the place seem'd all but dead,
Stone-dead, he said; but why so dead,
On lands with chirping birds on wing,
And rooks on high, with blackbirds nigh,
And swallows wheeling round in ring,
And fish to swim, where waters roam
By bridge and rock to fall in foam?
To him the place seem'd all but dead,
Stone-dead, he said; but why so dead,
On lands with chirping birds on wing,
And rooks on high, with blackbirds nigh,
And swallows wheeling round in ring,
And fish to swim, where waters roam
By bridge and rock to fall in foam?
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