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There rolls the deep where grew the tree. 



O earth, what changes hast them seen ! 



There where the long street roars, hath been 

 The stillness of the central sea. 



The hills are shadows, and they flow 



From form to form, and nothing stands ; 

 They melt like mist, the solid lands, 



Like clouds they shape themselves and go. 



TENNYSON. 



