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Where is beauty? Gone, gone: The cold winds have taken it With their faint moan; The white stars have shaken it, Trembling down, Into the pathless deeps of the sea. Gone, gone Is beauty from me. The clear naked flower Is faded and dead; The green-leafed willow, Drooping her head, Whispers low to the shade Of her boughs in the stream, Sighing a beauty, Secret as dream. |