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The ruddy-purpled day in light retires,
The shrieking owlets wanton in the air,
And others hoot to see the rising fires
Of Hesperus exalt their glory fair;
The cattle low from out their stabled yard,
From house to house the chiding dog is heard,
And now the hamlets, that have laboured hard
The live-long day, have their sweet toil deferred:
Above, the moon her silver orbit wheels
With pale delight, like fitful tragedy;
And to the shepherd his damp path reveals,
That to the longing arms of Madge doth hie:
In cities now they play great scenes to kings,
Whilst here muse I, and think of deeper things.

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