THERE rests a shade above yon town,
A dark funereal shroud:
'Tis not the tempest hurrying down,
'Tis not a summer cloud.
The smoke that rises on the air
Is as a type and sign;
A shadow flung by the despair
Within those streets of thine. (Letitia Elizabeth Landon)

THERE rests a shade above yon town, A dark funereal shroud: 'Tis not the tempest hurrying down, 'Tis not a summer cloud. The smoke that rises on the air Is as a type and sign; A shadow flung by the despair Within those streets of thine.

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

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above air cloud dark despair fling hurrying shade shadow shroud sign smoke summer tempest town type tis

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