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Spell-bound I stood by that sentinel tree, 
And I could not choose but weep, 
As one by one that sorrowing train, 
Left the dead to her lonely sleep. 
And as I mused on the fearful sights 
That hoary yew had seen, 
’T was fancy, I know, but methought a voice 
Thus sounded the gusts between: — 
e Yes, mortal, yes— I have that to tell 
Would turn Beauty’s bright cheek pale, 
Would cause the sallies of mirth to cease, 
And e’en warrior’s heart to quail. 
‘ I have seen the old, like a shock of corn, 
Safe garner’d in the tomb; 
I have seen the babe of a few brief days 
Cut off in its early bloom. 
‘ I have seen the maid, whose cheek was bright 
As a rose in its summer prime, 
Droop like that rose ’neath storms or blight, 
And die in youth’s budding time. 
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