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EDGAR ALLAN POE
For the naphthaline river
Of Passion accurst I have drunk of a water
That quenches all thirst.
Of a water that flows,
With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground From a cavern not very far
Down under ground. '
And ah.1 let it never
Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy,
And narrow my bed; For man never slept
In a different bed And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.
My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never
Regretting its roses
Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses:
For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies A holier odour
About it, of pansies
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