The reverie of poor susan

May 13, 2007 10:28pm CST
At the corner of WoodStreet, when daylight appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years; Poor Susan has passed by the spot by the spot, and has heard in the silience of morning the song of the bird. tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees a mountain ascending, avision of trees; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on the through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the mist of the date, Down which she often has tripped with her pail; And a single small cottage, anest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on the earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven; but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade; The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colours have all passed away from her eyes!
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