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[subtitle] => Array
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[0] => Afield at dusk
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[0] => What things for dream there are when specter-like, / Moving among tall haydocks lightly piled, / I enter alone upon the stubble field, / From which the laborers' voices late have died, / And in the antiphony of afterglow / And rising full moon, sit me down / Upon the full moon's side of the first haycock / And lose myself amid so many alike.|c
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