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—Roused by importunate knocksI rose, I turned the key, and let them in,First one, anon another, and at lengthIn troops they came; for how could I, who onceHad let in one, nor looked him in the face,Show scruples e’er again? So in they came,A noisy band of revellers,—vain hopes,Wild fancies, fitful joys; and there they sitIn my heart’s holy place, and through the nightCarouse, to leave it when the cold grey dawnGleams from the East, to tell me that the timeFor watching and for thought bestowed is gone. 1841
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