| «O soft embalmer of ye still midnight
|
| Allow me thee to adown
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| Of any sort thou fancieth;
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| Each holdeth its own fancy, I say —
|
| Yet the pleasure we partake in
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| Was caus’d by the fang’d grin
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| Save!, do I for him anger hold?
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| Nay — I knew I was fey!»
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| «Had I what it taketh I would do;
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| I sense — I cannot sense
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| I am — yet! |
| I am not —
|
| Once I kiss’d the image
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| Of the Seven Angels of Death…»
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| «Yet as thou so didst
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| On my lips a kiss landéd
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| And with the shadows blendéd
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| The tendermost silken mourn;
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| In which the light hidden is —
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| Yon Hell’s brazen doors
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| Wrothfully it trieth to push.»
|
| «Then, lo! |
| the Black Death
|
| Serpent-like 'twixt the breasts crept;
|
| Hush’d with a gasp of life’s breath
|
| „Hush'd with a gasp of life’s breath
|
| Together red tears they wept
|
| Together red tears we wept — in vain
|
| And pass’d the procession of dancers dead —
|
| And pass’d the procession of dancers dead —
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| As in darkness were we lock’d in wed.“
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| As in darkness were we lock’d in wed;
|
| I kiss’d the Seven Angels of Death.»
|
| «And Hell open’d its doors
|
| Yet what was 'fore my eyes
|
| „Yet what was 'fore my eyes
|
| But if not the brightest light.“
|
| But if not the brightest light.» |