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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,The earth, and every common sight,To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose,

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