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 Her pleasant lot. She left the rosy morn, She left the fields of corn, For twilight cold and lorn And water springs. Through sleep, as through a veil, She sees the sky look pale, And hears the nightingale That sadly sings. Rest, rest, a perfect rest Shed...  Essays - Էջ 285 Arthur Christopher Benson - 1896 - 312 էջ Ամբողջությամբ դիտվող -
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