Not harmony, that hurt of candles scorn
still burning at the church, as if reform
were but that one away, in essence borne
with truth and honor's cost within forlorn.
Oh, leverage of mine taught abiding scorn
the beauty of soul's wrought in spectrums storm
that empire of distraught is age forlorn
without a goal, as bought concern, do form!
The table empties...
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