Down in a stream-fed valley stood the Inn

Down in a stream-fed valley stood the Inn
Whither I came upon a summer day
Weary, for I had toiled through garrulous din
Of stifling towns where men must work alway,
And by long desolate tracks where human kin
Seemed to pass never. Now before me lay
A sweet green coombe, through which fresh brooklets run,
And the great Hostel sleeping in the sun.
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