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IN TURIN.

THERE once stood such a queer

Little church in Turin, -

Long destroyed, as I fear.

Dim and quaint 't was within,

With its pictures, once bright,

And the curious panes

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In its windows. The light,

As it passed, took their stains,

And their purples and reds

Like a glory were cast

On the garments and heads

Of the monks as they passed

To and fro. In the heat

Of a warm July day

I had taken a seat,

For a rest by the way,

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