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The
curfew
tolls
the
knell
of
parting
day,
the
lowing
herd
wind
slowly
o'er
the
lea,
the
plowman
homeward
plods
his
weary
way,
and
leaves
the
world
to
darkness
and
to
me.
Now
fades
the
glimm'ring
landscape
on
the
sight,
and
all
the
air
a
solemn
stillness
holds,
save
where
the
beetle
wheels
his
droning
flight,
and
drowsy
tinklings
lull
the
distant
folds.
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