Far are those tranquil hills, Dyed with fair evening`s rose; On urgent, secret errand bent, A traveller goes. Approach him strangers three, Barefooted, cowled; their eyes Scan the lone, hastening solitary With dumb surmise. One instant in close speech With them he doth confer: God-sped, he hasteneth on, That anxious traveller…. I was that man — in a dream: And each world`s night in vain I patient wait on sleep to unveil Those vivid hills again. Would that they three could know How yet burns on in me Love — from one lost in Paradise — For their grave courtesy.SourceThe script ran 0.003 seconds.
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