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[206] How dreary seemed the silent house!
     Wide in the moonbeams' ghastly glare
Its windows had a dead man's stare!

And, like a gaunt and spectral hand,
     The tremulous shadow of a birch
Reached out and touched the door's low porch,

As if to lift its latch; hard by,
     A sudden warning call she heard,
The night-cry of a boding bird.

She leaned against the door; her face,
     So fair, so young, so full of pain,
White in the moonlight's silver rain.

The river, on its pebbled rim,
     Made music such as childhood knew;
The door-yard tree was whispered through

By voices such as childhood's ear
     Had heard in moonlights long ago;
And through the willow-boughs below

She saw the rippled waters shine;
     Beyond, in waves of shade and light,
The hills rolled off into the night.

She saw and heard, but over all
     A sense of some transforming spell,
The shadow of her sick heart fell.

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