| Forlorn! the very word is like a bell | |
| To toll me back from thee to my sole self! | |
| Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well | |
| As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. | |
| Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades | |
| Past the near meadows, over the still stream, | |
| Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep | |
| In the next valley-glades: | |
| Was it a vision, or a waking dream? | |
Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?
-Keats
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