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Into the noiseless country

Into the noiseless country Annie went,

Among the silent people where no sound

Of wheel or voice or implement – no roar

Of wind or billow moves the tranquil air:

And oft at midnight when my strength is spent

And day’s delirium in the lull is drowned

Of deepening darkness, as I kneel before

Her palm and cross, comes to my soul this prayer,

That partly brings me back to my content,

'Oh, that hushed forest! – soon may I be there!

On a Bust of Dante
O Time! whose verdicts mock our own,

The only righteous judge art thou;

That poor old exile, sad and lone,

Is Latium’s other Virgil now:

Before his name the nations bow;

His words are parcel of mankind,

Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow,

The marks have sunk of Dante’s mind.