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Grief
I, that was once so eager for the light,
The vehement pomp and passion of the day,
Am tired at last, and glad to steal away
Across the dusky borders of the night.
The purple darkness now is my delight,
And with great stars my lonely sorrows play,
As still, some proud and tragic princess may
With diamonds make her desolation bright.
Night has become a temple for my tears . . .
The moon a silver shroud for my despair,
And all the golden forests of the spheres
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