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Heed not the night A summer lodge amid the wild is mine, 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'Tis mantled by the vine.
William C. Bryant
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William C. Bryant
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Ah! never shall the land forget.
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All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
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And at my silent window-sill The jessamine peeps in.
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The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
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Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
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