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The hill whereon I stood was made A pleasant place of summer shade By the green elms which seem'd as meant To make the noon a shadowy tent. I had been bent half sleep, half wake, Dreaming those rainbow dreams that take The spirit prisoner in their chain, Too beautiful to be quite vain,— Enough if they can soothe or cheer One moment's pain or sorrow here. And I was happy; hope and fame Together on my visions came, For memory had just dipp'd her wings In honey dews, and sunlit springs,— My brow burnt with its early wreath, My soul had drank its first sweet breath