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She called me once to her sleeping-place; A strange wild look was upon her face, Her eye flashed over her cheek so white, Like a gravestone seen in the pale moonlight, And she spoke in a low unearthly tone— The sound from mine ear hath never gone! "I had last night the loveliest dream: "My own land shone in the summer beam, "I saw the fields of the golden grain, "I heard the reaper's harvest strain; "There stood on the hills the green pine-tree, "And the thrush and the lark sang merrily. "A long and a weary way I had come; "But I stopped, methought, by mine own sweet home. "I stood by the hearth, and my father sat there, "With pale thin face, and snow-white hair!