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I saw a tattered cloak, drawn about the face |
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A gesture of farewell, to the kiss of |
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God's mouth |
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Kiss the image in a stranger's casket |
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What has become of splendour? |
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Twelve strokes have fallen |
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And the faintly heard breath |
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That argued my beauty |
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A ruined soul bewailing |
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Where the angels allow their wings bewilted |
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To droop, to bow to the bosom of a friend |
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Kiss me tenderly, savage |
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God My lips are dumb to speak a thousand inane words |
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And how sweet a toil |
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All is dark, all is blackened |
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All but an upturned face |