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Ringing, and ringing, and ringing; a death-peal, which fain would I flee. The feathery flakes are falling from the dull-grey, pall-like sky; falling, and falling, and falling; and, slowly they gather and lie. The snowy-white mantle it covers, the churchyard and meadow and lea, as now by her grave I am kneeling; yet, nothing but darkness I see!
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