| «A thunderbolt in the northern sky…
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| …and the roaring of a lion»
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| Swept up by the downy wings of angels
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| Made from a heaven-laden voice
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| I float with all the weight of ether
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| It pilots an aerie merchant ship
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| Across the phantasmagoric main
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| Courses waged by hermit to lonesome starry shoes
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| Bequeath their secret entryways
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| Lighthouses watch fervently the horizons of the soul
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| But Amaranth the peddler waxes poetic to Mnemosyne
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| His unmasked eyes deliver lunacy
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| It is a countless hour stealing further into landscapes seldom drawn
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| Even in a demon’s troubled head
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| He sells his wares to vampires
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| In bottles cork’d by woe
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| Dreams in liquid lift their eyes
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| To Morpheus enthroned
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| Upon a poppy field breathing
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| Slight all alone
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| Feather from a lofty wish
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| Fail on their own and fall wearily to Earth
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| A stirring by the nightstand causes the lamp to lift its voice
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| «Alack, a purloined dream
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| Again distills thy trembling eye!
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| What mystery remaineth ever so?
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| Amaranth, a curse doth write itself
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| Upon thy spectral frame
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| A thousand lives, a thousand days
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| Disgraceth thus thy name!» |