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To..A Poem By Edgar Allan Poe

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see

The wantonest singing birds

Are lips-and all thy melody

Thine eyes, Heaven of heart enshrined

Then desolately fall,

O God! on my funereal mind

Like starlight on a pall-

Thy heart--thy heart!--I wake and sigh,

And sleep to dream till day

Of the truth that gold can never buy--

Of the baubles that it may.

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