By EDGAR ALLAN POE
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The night, tho' clear, shall frown-
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given-
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
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YOU ARE READING
A Little Bit Of Poetry Here And There
PoetryTHIS IS A POEM BOOK Cause why not make poems. None of the poems are mine.
