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The Night, with her black veil down to her feet
Like an ordained nun, know what lies under
That awful, motionless, snow-white sheet?
The winds seem crazed, and, wildly howling,
Over the sad earth blindly go.
Do they and the dark clouds over them scowling,
Do they dream or know?
Tho' it must be a week, not more than one --
(I cannot recken of late or discover
When one day is ended or one begun),
But here in this room we were laughing lightly,
And glad was the measure our two hearts beat;
And the royal face that was smiling so brightly
Lies under that sheet.
Tropical, beautiful, gracious, fair,
To lie and stare at my fondest kisses --
God! no wonder it whitens my hair
Shriek, O wind! for the world is lonely;
Trail cloud-veil to the nun Night's feet!
For all that I prize in life is only
A shape and a sheet.
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