xiv. Bright is the ring of words xv. xv. In the highlands, in the country places xvi. xvi. Home no more home to me, wither must I wander? xvii. xvii. Winter—In rigorous hours, when down the iron lane Winter xviii. xviii. The stormy evening closes now in vain xix. xix. To Dr. Hake—In the belovèd hour that ushers day To Dr. Hake xx.
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