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57

IV.

It scarce were possible for love
To find a meeter spot;
Embosomed in a mountain's side
Peeped forth a tiny cot,
Far from the busy haunts of men,
Where the romantic Wye
Pursues its infant babbling course
In nature's minstrelsie:
A wood encircled jealously,
A ruin watched above,
Lest some rude mortal should invade
This sanctuary of love.