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 I visited the place where we last met.
Nothing was changed, the gardens were well-tended, The fountains sprayed their usual steady jet; There was no sign that anything had ended And nothing to instruct me to forget.
The thoughtless birds that shook out of the trees, Singing an ecstasy I could not share, Played cunning in my thoughts.
Surely in these Pleasures there could not be a pain to bear Or any discord shake the level breeze.
It was because the place was just the same That made your absence seem a savage force, For under all the gentleness there came An earthquake tremor: Fountain, birds and grass Were shaken by my thinking of your name.

by Robert Seymour Bridges
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