The eagle soars in the summit of Heaven
But my heart lingers in the bossom of thy love
With a perpetual configuration of melodious cacophonies
Rhythms that conquer the Julius in me ...
LADY, in thy proud eyes
There is a weary look,
As if the spirit we know through them
Were daunted with rebuke
To think that the heart of man henceforth
Is read like a read book.
Lady, in thy lifted face
The solitude is sore;
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