La paleta en el steeple de Hughley vira brillante, una muestra lejos-sabida, y mienten gente de Hughley, y mienten los amigos el míos. Alto en su medio la torre divide la cortina y el sol, y el reloj pulsa la hora y dice el tiempo a ningunos.
Al sur los headstones arraciman, la mentira asoleada de los montones densamente; Los muertos son más en asamblea en Hughley que el rápidos. Del norte, para un número pronto-dicho, sepulcros desapasibles que el sexton cava, y slumber steeple-sombreado los asesinos de sí mismos.
Al norte, al sur, la mentira se dividió, con la torre de Hughley arriba, la clase, el solo-hearted, los chavales que amaba. Y, sur o del norte, la ' opción de los tis solamente A de los amigos uno sabe, y ne'er estaré dormido solo con éstos o ésos.
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