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 There dumbly like a worm all day the still white orchid feeds; But nover an ccho of your daughters' laughter Is there, nor any sign of yon at all Swells fungous from the the rotten bough, grey mother of Pieria! Only her shadow once upon a stone I saw,—and, lo, the shadow and the garden, too, were gone. I tell you you have done her body an ill, You chatterers, you noisy crew! She is not anywhere! I sought her in deep Hell; And through the world as well; I thought of Heaven and I sought her there;