Ann Radcliffe


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Still is the night breeze!--not a lonely sound
Steals through the silence of this dreary hour;
O'er these high battlements Sleep reigns profound,
And sheds on all his sweet oblivious power.

On all but me--I vainly ask his dews
To steep in short forgetfulness my cares:
Th' affrighted god still flies when Love pursues,
Still--still denies the wretched lover's prayers."

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Ann Radcliffe