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Starr'd with primroses; and around Boughs like green tapestry swept the ground. —And there they dwelt apart from all That gilds and mocks ambition's thrall; Apart from cities, crowds, and care, Hopes that deceive, and toils that wear; For they had made themselves a world Like that or ever man was hurl'd   From his sweet Eden, to begin His bitter course of grief and sin.— And they were happy; Had won the prize for which he dared Dungeon and death; but what is there That the young lover will not dare? And she, though nurtured as a flower, The favourite bud of a spring bower,