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The Flower of Leaves, does not speak, nor sing!
She breathes intensly and plays on sweet strings
The Flower of Leaves, in spring, does not bloom,
She hangs in the heat and weeps low in gloom
...
Like the organ's pipe, her voice does inspire
Horrors and alure on trump'teer's sunrise
By the stringed tongues of the devil's choir
A demon should speak in maiden's disguise!
...
Align! Horsemen, on this grave night of fire,
Who bear the chariot of whom I desire;
Which rides in darkness with smok'd wheels a flame,
Out from oblivion with ruinous claim;
...
To be painted like genuine moonlight,
That spill'd from thine eyes in generous flow;
O Come, sweeping shadow, on t'ward the night!
Back'd by thy sainted sky of scarlet glow;
...
What colorless sunshine beams from her eyes
That meets said moonlight in heav'nly liason?
While she wakes early 'gainst the horizon,
Hues unknown by angels brighten pale skies.
...