Isabella; Or, The Pot of Basil
XLIII.

John Keats

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When the full morning came, she had devised

How she might secret to the forest hie;

How she might find the day, so dearly prized,

And sing to it one latest lullaby;

How her short absence might be unsurmised,

While she the inmost of the dream would try.

Resolv'd, she took with her an aged nurse,

And went into that dismal forest-hearse.

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