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“Thy pleasing spots to which fond memory clings,
Sweet cooling shades, and soft refreshing springs.
And though Fate’s pleas’d to lay their beauties by
In a dark corner of obscurity,
As fair and sweet they bloom’d thy plains among,
As bloom those Edens by the poets sung;
Now all laid waste by Desolation’s hand,
Whose cursed weapons level half the land.”
Helpstone, John Clare (1793-1864)

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