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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 339 |
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So never to the desert worn
Did sound bring freshness deeper Than that his placid rest this morn
Has brought the shrouded sleeper. That rest may lap his weary head
Where charnels choke the city, Or where, mid woodlands, by his bed
The wren shall make its ditty, But near or far, while evening's star
Is dear to heart's regretting, Around that spot admiring thought
Shall hover, unforgetting. |
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