In liquid marble statuary runs.
Of all drapes a place, sacred-figured
Weeping's substance. Which pomp, life's fever
Like licken stills; or moss, makes cooler.
The being of Mercy, in each shimmer!
In every sleekness, light-dripped through
From on high steps out. Which place, life's fret
Like the greenest solitude does net.
Apollo bay
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