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ON your bare rocks, O barren moors, | |
On your bare rocks I love to lie! | |
They stand like crags upon the shores, | |
Or clouds upon a placid sky. | |
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Across those spaces desolate | 5 |
The fox pursues his lonely way, | |
Those solitudes can fairly sate | |
The passage of my loneliest day. | |
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Like desert islands far at sea | |
Where not a ship can ever land, | 10 |
Those dim uncertainties to me | |
For something veritable stand. | |
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A serious place distinct from all | |
Which busy Life delights to feel, | |
I stand in this deserted hall, | 15 |
And thus the wounds of time conceal. | |
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No friends cold eye, or sad delay, | |
Shall vex me now where not a sound | |
Falls on the ear, and every day | |
Is soft as silence most profound. | 20 |
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No more upon these distant worlds | |
The agitating world can come, | |
A single Pensive thought upholds | |
The arches of this dreamy home. | |
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Within the sky above, one thought | 25 |
Replies to you, O barren moors! | |
Between, I stand, a creature taught | |
To stand between two silent floors. | |
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