IN ALEXIS RAVELIN
A mist has settled over all the past,
Enwrapping it forever in its shroud;
And it has thickened to a winding-sheet,
And hangs above me like a boding cloud.
That leaden cloud depresses heavily;
It chills the brain, with long confinement worn,
And pierces deep my soul with poison hot
Of black and heavy thoughts, in prison born.
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