Jet Burns

Lethe, Darkly

O gracious Lethe ~ Innocent sincere!
Beauteous child who knows near naught at all;
those specters, save, that dim and chill appear
from out your looking-glass to then appall!

In lonesome thought you conjure a milieu:
of faces, bright as morning with the sun
alighting on the newly forméd dew!
To burn its each and ev'ry clinging tongue,

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