(LEAVES)

   —But there's a Tree, of many, one,
A single Field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something which is gone:
   The Pansy at my feet
   Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

William Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality

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