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"untrodden region of the mind, Where branchëd thoughts, new-grown with pleasant pain, Instead of pines, shall murmur in the wind; Far, far around shall these dark clustered trees, Fledge the wild ridgëd mountains steep by steep, And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds and bees, The moss-lain Dryads shall be lulled to sleep; And in the midst of this wide quietness, A rosy sanctuary will I dress With the wreathed trellis of a working brain, With buds and bells and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, Who, breeding flowers, will never breed the same; And there shall be for thee all soft delight, That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in!"
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