LVII.

Two or three seem so little, one seems nothing:

In deserts, forests, crowds, or by the shore,

There Solitude, we know, has her full growth in

The spots which were her realms for evermore;

But in a mighty hall or gallery, both in

More modern buildings and those built of yore,

A kind of Death comes o'er us all alone,

Seeing what's meant for many with but one.

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