| M. Douglas to E.R. Gleneden |
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| Through the hours of yesternight |
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| Still beside that dreary water |
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| O God of heaven! the dream of horror |
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| Lines |
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| Only some spires of bright green grass |
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| Written on Returning to the P. of I. on the 10th of January, 1827 |
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| Wind, sink to rest in the heather |
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| And now the house-dog stretched once more |
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| A Sudden chasm of ghastly light |
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