Now first, as I shut the door, I was alone In the new house; and the wind Began to moan. Old at once was the house, And I was old; My ears were teased with the dread Of what was foretold, Nights of storm, days of mist, without end; Sad days when the sun Shone in vain: old griefs and griefs Not yet begun. All was foretold me; naught Could I foresee; But I learned how the wind would sound After these things should be.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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