| In the greenest of our valleys
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| By good angels tenanted
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| Once a fair and stately palace-
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| Radiant palace- reared its head
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| In the monarch Thought’s dominion-
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| It stood there!
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| Never seraph spread a pinion
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| Over fabric half so fair!
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| Banners yellow, glorious, golden
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| On its roof did float and flow
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| (This- all this- was in the olden
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| Time long ago,)
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| And every gentle air that dallied
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| In that sweet day
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| Along the ramparts plumed and pallid
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| A winged odor went away
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| Wanderers in that happy valley
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| Through two luminous windows, saw
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| Spirits moving musically
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| To a lute’s well-tuned law
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| Round about a throne where, sitting
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| (Porphyrogene!)
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| In state his glory well-befitting
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| The ruler of the realm was seen
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| And all with pearl and ruby glowing
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| Was the fair palace door
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| Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
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| And sparkling evermore
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| A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
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| Was but to sing
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| In voices of surpassing beauty
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| The wit and wisdom of their king
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| But evil things, in robes of sorrow
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| Assailed the monarch’s high estate
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| (Ah, let us mourn!- for never morrow
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| Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
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| And round about his home the glory
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| That blushed and bloomed
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| Is but a dim-remembered story
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| Of the old time entombed
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| And travellers, now, within that valley
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| Through the red-litten windows see
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| Vast forms, that move fantastically
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| To a discordant melody
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| While, like a ghastly rapid river
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| Through the pale door
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| A hideous throng rush out forever
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| And laugh- but smile no more |