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Poem by William Wordsworth
The Faëry Chasm
No fiction was it of the antique age: A sky-blue stone, within this sunless cleft, Is of the very footmarks unbereft Which tiny Elves impressed; - on that smooth stage Dancing with all their brilliant equipage In secret revels - haply after theft Of some sweet Babe - Flower stolen, and coarse Weed left For the distracted Mother to assuage Her grief with, as she might! - But, where, oh! where Is traceable a vestige of the notes That ruled those dances wild in character? - Deep underground? Or in the upper air, On the shrill wind of midnight? or where floats O'er twilight fields the autumnal gossamer?
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