| Awake, My Lyre |
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| The Wave is resting on the sea |
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| Often, when at night delaying |
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| Ode on Death |
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| Ode to Religion |
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| Sonnet: 9 |
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| O for a mantling bower hung by the loaded vine |
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| The Cypress, in its dark funereal dress |
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| Now the setting sun is glowing |
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| In wisdom God hath made the world |
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