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I can't leave you.
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I have such clear hope for your new book of poems.
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John, they are more beautiful than
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any I have read of Mr. Coleridge,
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Mr. Wordsworth, even Lord Byron.
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O what can ail thee, knight- at- arms
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alone and palely loitering?
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the sedge has wither d from the lake and no birds sing
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I met a lady in the meads
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full beautiful, a faery s child
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her hair was long, her foot was light
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and her eyes were wild