I lift my heavy heart up solemnly
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As once Elektra her sepulchral urn
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And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
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The ashes at thy feet, behold and see
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What a great heap of grief lay hid in me
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And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
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Through the ashen greyness, if thy foot in scorn
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Could tread them out to darkness utterly
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It might be well perhaps, but if instead
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Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
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The grey dust up ... those laurels on thine head
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O my beloved, will not shield thee so
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That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
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The hair beneath, stand further off then! Go!
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[Taken from the Elizabeth B.Browning's "Sonnets from the Portuguese"]
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Sonnet Of My Grief
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Thalarion |