Where angels fear to tread

Where angels fear to tread
And ten low words oft creep in one dull line:

While they ring round the same unvaried chimes,

With sure returns of still expected rhymes;

Wher’er you find “the cooling western breeze”,

In the next line, it “whispers through the trees”;

If crystal streams “with pleasing murmurs creep”,

The reader’s threatened (not in vain) with “sleep”


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