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AN ALLEGORY
I. He too has flitted from his secret nest, / Hope's last and dearest child without a name! -- / Has flitted from me, like the warmthless flame, / That makes false promise of a place of rest / To the tired Pilgrim's still believing mind; -- / Or like some Elfin Knight in kingly court, / Who having won all guerdons in his sport, / Glides out of view, and whither none can find!