The Village

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 Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all,

And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall;

And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,

Far, far away thy children leave the land

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,

Where wealth accumulates, and men decay

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[Oliver Goldsmith, 'The Deserted Village', 1770]

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