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Oh, vanity! that the stone wall May sooner than a blossom fall; The tower in its strength may be Laid low before the willow tree. There stood the wood, subject to all The autumn wind, the winter fall,— There stood the castle which the rain And wind had buffetted in vain,— But one in ruins stood beside The other green in its spring pride.

And paced the lonely hall As if he feared his own footfall. It is the very worst, the gloom Of a deserted banquet-room, To see the spider's web outvie The torn and faded tapestry,—