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Then from a Wood was heard unseen to coo
The Ring-dove—‘Yúsuf! Yúsuf! Yúsuf! Yú-’
(For thus her sorrow broke her Note in twain,
And, just where broken, took it up again)
‘-suf! Yúsuf! Yúsuf! Yúsuf!’—But one Note,
Which still repeating, she made hoarse her throat:
Till checkt—‘Oh You, who with your idle Sighs
Block up the Road of better Enterprize;
Sham Sorrow all, or bad as sham if true,
When once the better thing is come to do;
Beware lest wailing thus you meet his Doom
Who all too long his Darling wept, from whom
You draw the very Name you hold so dear,
And which the World is somewhat tired to hear.’