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Walter de la Mare - The RuinWalter de la Mare - The Ruin
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When the last colours of the day Have from their burning ebbed away, About that ruin, cold and lone, The cricket shrills from stone to stone; And scattering o`er its darkened green, Bands of fairies may be seen, Clattering like grasshoppers, their feet Dancing a thistledown dance round it: While the great gold of the mild moon Tinges their tiny acorn shoon.
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