Theatre Of Tragedy - Mre
Harken! - The Clouds Musterd In Dark - So Painfully Easing. Hush! - Hearest Ye The Yew Doting; Its Years Of Yore In A Mre, Each Like A Corpse Within Its Grave; Wrought For Us A Yearn Of Lief; 'tis Not A Lore Of Bale Nor Loathe; Harmony And Sthesia Are Its Blisses; Ne'er Ere Hath It Exist'd So Sonorously - Jostl'd Away The Pale Drape That Us Had Been O'erhung - Tempt'd Thy Shutters To Open And Thus Quenched The Hearth; Thou Giv'st To Misery All Thou Hast: The Cold - With Weal Embrac'd The Sprounting Landscape Like A Star Of Heaven In The Broad Daylight - This Joy Subdueth Until It Again Waneth, Save The Drooping Winter Of Stalwart.
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