No plot of ground to serve a bed
Against the dark you lay your head
For expedition much abused
Contemptable in your afteruse
Defiled by Adam's selfishness
Your face unrecognizable
A mute remains of ravishment
To world unreconcilable
A dying bird with broken wings
Your fate lies with unloved things
Too weak to cry out heavenward
You close your eyes from pain!
(Be exalted Lord, who designed this bard
To refrain from all things sane)
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