In a portrait of evil and beauty, sneers she, Empress of ravens and owls
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By a firmament flourished of darkness she's adorned with nettle and thorns
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Throned'neath the fiery deluge, the tears you once wept
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Then turned to tongues of flames under Samael's spell
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Thou givest to the prescribed that disdainful glance
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Wich damns the crowd gathered around the scaffold
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With branches as frame Artemis navigates the night
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While the horizon thou scan nigh the Duke of Rains
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Laid onto meads of decrepitude are crying the Legions of Pride
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"Non Servian!"
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"Tough wind, that moanest loud grief too sad for song;
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Wild wind, when sullen cloud knells all the night long;
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Sad storm , whose tears are vain, bare woods whose branches strain;
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Deep caves and dreary main, wait for the world's wrong!"
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The Nettle Path Of Grief
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Crown Of Autumn |