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All overgrown by cunning moss, All interspersed with weed, The little cage of "Currer Bell" In quiet "Haworth" laid. Gathered from many wanderings -- Gethsemane can tell Thro' what transporting anguish She reached the Asphodel! Soft falls the sounds of Eden Upon her puzzled ear -- Oh what an afternoon for Heaven, When "Bronte" entered there!
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