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1820–1897

IX.

Jean Ingelow

‘ Aloud I spake, but verily Never an answer looked should be. But it came to pass from shade Pacing to an open glade,

Which the oaks a mighty wall Fence about, methought a call Sounded, then a pale thin mist Rose, a pillar, and fronted me,

Rose and took a form I wist, And it wore a hood on‘ ts head, And a long white garment spread, And I saw the eyes thereof.

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IX. · Jean Ingelow · Poetry Cove