After Lenore, by Edgar Allan Poe
Broken—yes—the golden-locked and beautiful Lenore,
Gone from us forevermore, to grace our eyes no more.
And thou, De Vere, who scornful stands with hollow, cold disdain—
It’s clear to all, thy mournful cries are pitiful and vain.
Let the exequy commence! Let sorrow find its voice,
While thou, false mourner, face thy fate—be judged for...
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