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Day came again; and up he rose,
A weary man, from his lone board;
Nor merry feast, nor sweet repose,
Did that long night afford.
No shadowy-coming night, to bring him rest,—
No dawn, to chase the darkness of his breast!
A weary man, from his lone board;
Nor merry feast, nor sweet repose,
Did that long night afford.
No shadowy-coming night, to bring him rest,—
No dawn, to chase the darkness of his breast!
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