Chapter IV
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And when the glory of her dream withdrew,
When knightly gestes and courtly pageantries
Were broken in her visionary eyes
By tears the solemn seas attested true,--
Forgetting that sweet lute beside her hand,
She asked not,--"Do you praise me, O my land?"
But,--"Think ye of me, friends, as I of you?"
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The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Volume 2Chapter IV
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