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 "Far, you say, is that ruined place?   No man walks on that lonely road? Was it so beautiful, then, that face    That is mingled now with the heavy mould?"

"No! No! Not beautiful at all!   Withered and wasted — what you will! And the north wind blows thro' that ruined wall,   And no man ever crosses that hill!

"Yes, your thousand lovers will come.   I believe it! And till the sea Drown in its flood her grassy tomb    She will unremembered be!"