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gothic poetry

mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
i walk down the garden paths
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
the body may confine
it was a tall young oysterman
within my hand i hold
shades of night were falling fast
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
those black eyes i once so praised
i stand in the cold gray weather

 



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