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THE DEATH SONG
"Pains of the deep hold me in thrall,
World-old cancers that eat my heart,
Blood o' the earth—I feel it start—
Gone, get ye gone, or it floods you all!"

Living and breeding, still they smile,
Ants of the ant-hill, pygmy men,
"Pelée stirs? she will rest again;
Live and love me and dance awhile!"

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Ha, my heart it is rent in twain!
Up and out in a fiery path
Sweeps a river of molten wrath,
Falls a torrent of scorching rain!

Ho, my brother, you boil and hiss!
Ho, my father, I hide your sun!
Up, at last, little ants, and run!
Shrivel and blanch at Pelee's kiss!

Hark! did I hear from below my hill
Rise and echo a puny din?
Through my thunder a wailing thin?
When I listened, the ants were still.

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