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[182] And he said, the landscape sweeping
     Slowly with his ungloved hand,
“I have seen no prospect fairer
     In this goodly Eastern land.”

Then the bugles of his escort
     Stirred to life the cavalcade:
And that head, so bare and stately,
     Vanished down the depths of shade.

Ever since, in town and tarm-house,
     Life has had its ebb and flow;
Thrice hath passed the human harvest
     To its garner green and low.

But the trees the gleeman planted,
     Through the changes, changeless stand;
As the marble calm of Tadmor
     Mocks the desert's shifting sand.

Still the level moon at rising
     Silvers o'er each stately shaft;
Still beneath them, half in shadow,
     Singing, glides the pleasure craft;

Still beneath them, arm-enfolded,
     Love and Youth together stray;
While, as heart to heart beats faster,
     More and more their feet delay.

Where the ancient cobbler, Keezar,
     On the open hillside wrought,
Singing, as he drew his stitches,
     Songs his German masters taught,

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Tadmor (Pennsylvania, United States) (1)

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