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There once was quite an enormous frog
That got crazy listening to rock.
Then it jumped on a drum
Croaked and popped out its tongue,
And the people liked watching that frog.

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There Once Was A Man...

There once was a man, they called brave
Who lived in a hole, called a grave...
Well, being the host
To many a ghost,
He arranged a big bash, called a rave


There once was a man, called a knave
Who lived in a hole, called a cave...
Not being too keen
About keeping it clean...
Well, he took on a wife, called a slave


There once was a man with a stave
Who lived in a holy enclave...
Maintaining a grin
While absolving the sin,
He assessed wicked tales and forgave


There once was a monk with a wave
Who wanted a head with a shave...
The barber was such
That she cut back too much
Thereby leaving his globus concave


There once was a man in the nave,
Although pious he could not behave...
They paid him no mind,
'Caus his name was maligned,
Simply being a sinner to save


There once was a man quite depraved
A voluptuous life was thus craved...
Well, continuous sin
Ended doing him in -
On his tombstone they carved ‘Misbehaved'

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There Once Was A Valerie D

There once was a Valerie D
Who's poems we all loved to see
They came from her heart
She's perfected her art
Can she pass on her wisdom to me?

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There once was a Nun

There once was a Nun and a Druid
Exchanging some bodily fluid.
Along strode the Father
Who saw all the bother,
Lost stickum while coming unglu..ed.

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There Once Was A Fellow Called Croll

There once was a fellow called Croll,
Who loved to hear periods roll
On his musical tongue.
It is he who has sung,
'Ev'n sev'n heav'ns giv'n buy not my soul'.

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There once was a poet called Thomas

There once was a poet called Thomas
Who bestowed all his wisdom upon us
Pen a poem he could
They were always so good
And his comments were kind and without cuss

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There Once Was A Time

There once was a time
When the wild grass grew
Once was a time
A Me
A You
What a time there once was
If only for a day
There once was a time
Wild flowers
Were ablaze
Once was a time
Not long ago
I felt complete
There was no hole
Time was there once
I let it slip bye
There once was a time
Now
I realize

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There Once Was

There Once Was

There once was a dream
Of a girl like me
Struggling just to be
There once was a time
Where someone like me
Just like me
Gave up and was forgotten
There once was a place
Where a girl, a sad girl
Was lost and never found
There once was a girl
Who hated herself
Destroyed herself
Like a Phoenix
She flew to ashes
But in the bright morn
She was once again reborn
To make a choice
Happiness or Sorrow
Destruction or Life
Today that girl is me
Happy and free
But come tomorrow
I wonder who she will be


~JKM~

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There Once Was A Tiny Girl

there once
was a tiny girl
who grew up
in this world

there once
was a tiny girl
who cried herself to sleep
every night

there once
was a tiny girl
who wore the same dress
every day

there once
was a tiny girl
who wouldn't go out
and play

there once
was a tiny girl
who would bleed and have bruises
from head to toe

there once
was a tiny girl
who begged
daddy, please no more

there once
was a tiny girl
who the angels
heard her prayer
they came down
and took her
to a better place
where that tiny girl
found love
instead of hate


by: crystal sonier
age: 15

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There once was a man

There once was a man
who had the impact
that even princes
refrained from talking,
when they saw him
and young men
disappeared in respect
and even old men
rose to greet him.

His words and wisdom
impressed everyone
and he treated every man
like a son
and he was like a king
and his life was
a lesson to all
and although
death, ruination and tragedy
befalled him at a time,
and his wife
begged him to curse
the Lord and die,
he trusted
though he didn’t really understand
and God stretched out His hand
and restored him
too much greater than he was.

Yet, his riches and importance
didn’t go to his head
and he stretched out his hand
to others instead
and the poor, the fatherless,
the helpless, the blind,
the widow and the stranger
knew him well
and to this day
almost every one can tell
the test of the Almighty
and the story of Job.

[Reference: Job 29: 4-16.]

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There Once Was A Skunk

There once was a skunk that didn't eat meat
he was a vegetarian that didn't want his teeth
to reek.
Only they did with an onion smell
he had a bad taste that everyone could tell.
Except Sarah Star the princess with red hair
she could not smell his stinky smell in the air.
For Skunky put on his 'Secret Dare' cologne
he did this in the comfort of his skunky home.
Every night before Skunky goes to bed
he sprays a cologne all over his head.
The cologne is named 'Secret Dare'
in which gives Skunky an evil streak and flare.
Then Skunky gets his courage and goes
to Sarah's castle in the woods
this is where Skunky took Sarah's precious goods.
The goods that have the Secret's of the galaxy
Skunky hid them for no one to see.
Except John the Troll-
he will one day turn Skunky into a gnome
that way Troll can kick Skunky
out of Sarah Star's beautiful home.

Written by Suzae Chevalier on March 16,2012

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There Once Was A Skunk

There once was a skunk that didn't eat meat
he was a vegetarian that didn't want his teeth
to reek.
Only they did with an onion smell
he had a bad taste that everyone could tell.
Except Sarah Star the princess with red hair
she could not smell his stinky smell in the air.
For Skunky put on his 'Secret Dare' cologne
he did this in the comfort of his skunky home.
Every night before Skunky goes to bed
he sprays a cologne all over his head.
The cologne is named 'Secret Dare'
in which gives Skunky an evil streak and flare.
Then Skunky gets his courage and goes
to Sarah's castle in the woods
this is where Skunky took Sarah's precious goods.
The goods that have the Secret's of the galaxy
Skunky hid them for no one to see.
Except John the Troll-
he will one day turn Skunky into a gnome
that way Troll can kick Skunky
out of Sarah Star's beautiful home.

Written by Suzae Chevalier on March 16,2012

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The Child and the Mariner

A dear old couple my grandparents were,
And kind to all dumb things; they saw in Heaven
The lamb that Jesus petted when a child;
Their faith was never draped by Doubt: to them
Death was a rainbow in Eternity,
That promised everlasting brightness soon.
An old seafaring man was he; a rough
Old man, but kind; and hairy, like the nut
Full of sweet milk. All day on shore he watched
The winds for sailors' wives, and told what ships
Enjoyed fair weather, and what ships had storms;
He watched the sky, and he could tell for sure
What afternoons would follow stormy morns,
If quiet nights would end wild afternoons.
He leapt away from scandal with a roar,
And if a whisper still possessed his mind,
He walked about and cursed it for a plague.
He took offence at Heaven when beggars passed,
And sternly called them back to give them help.
In this old captain's house I lived, and things
That house contained were in ships' cabins once:
Sea-shells and charts and pebbles, model ships;
Green weeds, dried fishes stuffed, and coral stalks;
Old wooden trunks with handles of spliced rope,
With copper saucers full of monies strange,
That seemed the savings of dead men, not touched
To keep them warm since their real owners died;
Strings of red beads, methought were dipped in blood,
And swinging lamps, as though the house might move;
An ivory lighthouse built on ivory rocks,
The bones of fishes and three bottled ships.
And many a thing was there which sailors make
In idle hours, when on long voyages,
Of marvellous patience, to no lovely end.
And on those charts I saw the small black dots
That were called islands, and I knew they had
Turtles and palms, and pirates' buried gold.
There came a stranger to my granddad's house,
The old man's nephew, a seafarer too;
A big, strong able man who could have walked
Twm Barlum's hill all clad in iron mail
So strong he could have made one man his club
To knock down others -- Henry was his name,
No other name was uttered by his kin.
And here he was, sooth illclad, but oh,
Thought I, what secrets of the sea are his!
This man knows coral islands in the sea,
And dusky girls heartbroken for white men;
More rich than Spain, when the Phoenicians shipped
Silver for common ballast, and they saw
Horses at silver mangers eating grain;
This man has seen the wind blow up a mermaid's hair
Which, like a golden serpent, reared and stretched
To feel the air away beyond her head.
He begged my pennies, which I gave with joy --
He will most certainly return some time
A self-made king of some new land, and rich.
Alas that he, the hero of my dreams,
Should be his people's scorn; for they had rose
To proud command of ships, whilst he had toiled
Before the mast for years, and well content;
Him they despised, and only Death could bring
A likeness in his face to show like them.
For he drank all his pay, nor went to sea
As long as ale was easy got on shore.
Now, in his last long voyage he had sailed
From Plymouth Sound to where sweet odours fan
The Cingalese at work, and then back home --
But came not near my kin till pay was spent.
He was not old, yet seemed so; for his face
Looked like the drowned man's in the morgue, when it
Has struck the wooden wharves and keels of ships.
And all his flesh was pricked with Indian ink,
His body marked as rare and delicate
As dead men struck by lightning under trees
And pictured with fine twigs and curlèd ferns;
Chains on his neck and anchors on his arms;
Rings on his fingers, bracelets on his wrist;
And on his breast the Jane of Appledore
Was schooner rigged, and in full sail at sea.
He could not whisper with his strong hoarse voice,
No more than could a horse creep quietly;
He laughed to scorn the men that muffled close
For fear of wind, till all their neck was hid,
Like Indian corn wrapped up in long green leaves;
He knew no flowers but seaweeds brown and green,
He knew no birds but those that followed ships.
Full well he knew the water-world; he heard
A grander music there than we on land,
When organ shakes a church; swore he would make
The sea his home, though it was always roused
By such wild storms as never leave Cape Horn;
Happy to hear the tempest grunt and squeal
Like pigs heard dying in a slaughterhouse.
A true-born mariner, and this his hope --
His coffin would be what his cradle was,
A boat to drown in and be sunk at sea;
Salted and iced in Neptune's larder deep.
This man despised small coasters, fishing-smacks;
He scorned those sailors who at night and morn
Can see the coast, when in their little boats
They go a six days' voyage and are back
Home with their wives for every Sabbath day.
Much did he talk of tankards of old beer,
And bottled stuff he drank in other lands,
Which was a liquid fire like Hell to gulp,
But Paradise to sip.

And so he talked;
Nor did those people listen with more awe
To Lazurus -- whom they had seen stone dead --
Than did we urchins to that seaman's voice.
He many a tale of wonder told: of where,
At Argostoli, Cephalonia's sea
Ran over the earth's lip in heavy floods;
And then again of how the strange Chinese
Conversed much as our homely Blackbirds sing.
He told us how he sailed in one old ship
Near that volcano Martinique, whose power
Shook like dry leaves the whole Caribbean seas;
And made the sun set in a sea of fire
Which only half was his; and dust was thick
On deck, and stones were pelted at the mast.
Into my greedy ears such words that sleep
Stood at my pillow half the night perplexed.
He told how isles sprang up and sank again,
Between short voyages, to his amaze;
How they did come and go, and cheated charts;
Told how a crew was cursed when one man killed
A bird that perched upon a moving barque;
And how the sea's sharp needles, firm and strong,
Ripped open the bellies of big, iron ships;
Of mighty icebergs in the Northern seas,
That haunt the far hirizon like white ghosts.
He told of waves that lift a ship so high
That birds could pass from starboard unto port
Under her dripping keel.

Oh, it was sweet
To hear that seaman tell such wondrous tales:
How deep the sea in parts, that drownèd men
Must go a long way to their graves and sink
Day after day, and wander with the tides.
He spake of his own deeds; of how he sailed
One summer's night along the Bosphorus,
And he -- who knew no music like the wash
Of waves against a ship, or wind in shrouds --
Heard then the music on that woody shore
Of nightingales,and feared to leave the deck,
He thought 'twas sailing into Paradise.
To hear these stories all we urchins placed
Our pennies in that seaman's ready hand;
Until one morn he signed on for a long cruise,
And sailed away -- we never saw him more.
Could such a man sink in the sea unknown?
Nay, he had found a land with something rich,
That kept his eyes turned inland for his life.
'A damn bad sailor and a landshark too,
No good in port or out' -- my granddad said.

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There once was a man from Drumcroon
Who whistled himself a fast tune;
He screwed up his face
Until so out of place
That his mouth near resembled a prune.

(Written Nov 2012)

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There once was a man from Torquay
Who suffered from bites from a flea;
So he called for a nurse
But things turned for the worse:
He was stung by a ruddy great bee.

(Written Oct 2012)

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There once was a farmer from Wales,
Who's chickens could lay six inch nails,
They were hard to squeeze out
But the farmer would shout:
'I need them for mending the rails! '

(Written Feb 1995)

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For Declan

There once was a fellow named D.
he had misunderstood little me.
Though his poems ain't bad
and he is a good lad
so let pax for the two of us be.

So this limerick was writ just to say
that in life it is better to play
than to act like two farts
who would hurl poisoned darts
let me know if it's Aye or Nay.

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Gina (Limerick)

There once was a sheila named Gina
she would chase from this site a hyena.
So she grabs their small balls
hurls them over the falls
then comes back as a ballerina.

She is good, also fair as a critic
and she hates matters hippocritic
since she likes what I write
and gives others a fright
I would call her brain analytic.

Long ago when I lived in Badena
I was married to Wilhelmina.
But the marriage went bust
no, it didn't lack lust
it is just that I was a Berliner.

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La Gonave

La gonave I see your mist
La gonave well I know youre kissed
By the same sea of trouble
That stretches back home
La gonave
Youve got troubles of your own
Yes I got troubles
Wont you come on and see
I got my needs just follow me
But they gonna ease by and by
If you tell all the people
That its no lie
You only came for forty eight hours
Didnt realise how useless I was
Came to you for the nation sells lies
Lord knows but I still feel helpless
La gonave I dont feel good
La gonave do you think I should
Turn my back and walk away
La gonave tell me what to say
If Id been at home
Would you telephone me
Im situated across the sea
But its a small world from any point
Of view
Spare a thought
This could have been you
You shook my senses
Took my time
Froze my feeling
Broke my mind
La gonave youve played your part
La gonave you sure got heart
Didnt leave my heart in san francisco
Didnt want to stay in omaha
Never got fooled by new york city
But I lost my heart to la gonave
Didnt leave my heart in san francisco
Didnt want to stay in omaha
Never got fooled by new york city
But I lost my heart to la gonave
Didnt leave my heart in san francisco
Didnt want to stay in omaha
Never got fooled by new york city
But I lost my heart to la gonave

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A Letter

'TIS over, Moses! All is lost!
I hear the bells a-ringing;
Of Pharaoh and his Red Sea host
I hear the Free-Wills singing.*
We're routed, Moses, horse and foot,
If there be truth in figures,
With Federal Whigs in hot pursuit,
And Hale, and all the 'niggers.'
Alack! alas! this month or more
We've felt a sad foreboding;
Our very dreams the burden bore
Of central cliques exploding;
Before our eyes a furnace shone,
Where heads of dough were roasting,
And one we took to be your own
The traitor Hale was toasting!
Our Belknap brother* heard with awe
The Congo minstrels playing;
At Pittsfield Reuben Leavitt* saw
The ghost of Storrs a-praying;
And Carroll's woods were sad to see,
With black-winged crows a-darting;
And Black Snout looked on Ossipee,
New-glossed with Day and Martin.
We thought the 'Old Man of the Notch'
His face seemed changing wholly —
His lips seemed thick; his nose seemed flat;
His misty hair looked woolly;
And Coös teamsters, shrieking, fled
From the metamorphosed figure.
'Look there!' they said, 'the Old Stone Head
Himself is turning nigger!'
The schoolhouse* out of Canaan hauled
Seemed turning on its track again,
And like a great swamp-turtle crawled
To Canaan village back again,
Shook off the mud and settled flat
Upon its underpinning;
A nigger on its ridge-pole sat,
From ear to ear a-grinning.
Gray H—d heard o' nights the sound
Of rail-cars onward faring;
Right over Democratic ground
The iron horse came tearing.
A flag waved o'er that spectral train,
As high as Pittsfield steeple;
Its emblem was a broken chain;
Its motto: 'To the people!'
I dreamed that Charley took his bed,
With Hale for his physician;
His daily dose an old 'unread
And unreferred' petition.*
There Hayes and Tuck as nurses sat,
As near as near could be, man;
They leeched him with the 'Democrat;'
They blistered with the 'Freeman.'
Ah! grisly portents! What avail
Your terrors of forewarning?
We wake to find the nightmare Hale
Astride our breasts at morning!
From Portsmouth lights to Indian stream
Our foes their throats are trying;
The very factory-spindles seem
To mock us while they're flying.
The hills have bonfires; in our streets
Flags flout us in our faces;
The newsboys, peddling off their sheets,
Are hoarse with our disgraces.
In vain we turn, for gibing wit
And shoutings follow after,
As if old Kearsarge had split
His granite sides with laughter!
What boots it that we pelted out
The anti-slavery women,9
And bravely strewed their hall about
With tattered lace and trimming?
Was it for such a sad reverse
Our mobs became peacemakers,
And kept their tar and wooden horse
For Englishmen and Quakers?
For this did shifty Atherton
Make gag rules for the Great House?
Wiped we for this our feet upon
Petitions in our State House?
Plied we for this our axe of doom,
No stubborn traitor sparing,
Who scoffed at our opinion loom,
And took to homespun wearing?
Ah, Moses! hard it is to scan
These crooked providences,
Deducing from the wisest plan
The saddest consequences!
Strange that, in trampling as was meet
The nigger-men's petition,
We sprung a mine beneath our feet
Which opened up perdition.
How goodly, Moses, was the game
In which we've long been actors,
Supplying freedom with the name
And slavery with the practice!
Our smooth words fed the people's mouth,
Their ears our party rattle;
We kept them headed to the South,
As drovers do their cattle.
But now our game of politics
The world at large is learning;
And men grown gray in all our tricks
State's evidence are turning.
Votes and preambles subtly spun
They cram with meanings louder,
And load the Democratic gun
With abolition powder.
The ides of June! Woe worth the day
When, turning all things over,
The traitor Hale shall make his hay
From Democratic clover!
Who then shall take him in the law,
Who punish crime so flagrant?
Whose hand shall serve, whose pen shall draw,
A writ against that 'vagrant'?
Alas! no hope is left us here,
And one can only pine for
The envied place of overseer
Of slaves in Carolina!
Pray, Moses, give Calhoun the wink,
And see what pay he's giving!
We're practised long enough, we think,
To know the art of driving.
And for the faithful rank and file,
Who know their proper stations,
Perhaps it may be worth their while
To try the rice plantations.
Let Hale exult, let Wilson scoff,
To see us southward scamper;
The slaves, we know, are 'better off
Than laborers in New Hampshire!'

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The Mistress Of Vision

I

Secret was the garden;
Set i' the pathless awe
Where no star its breath can draw.
Life, that is its warden,
Sits behind the fosse of death. Mine eyes saw not,
and I saw.

II

It was a mazeful wonder;
Thrice three times it was enwalled
With an emerald--
Seal-ed so asunder.
All its birds in middle air hung a-dream, their
music thralled.

III

The Lady of fair weeping,
At the garden's core,
Sang a song of sweet and sore
And the after-sleeping;
In the land of Luthany, and the tracts of Elenore.

IV

With sweet-panged singing,
Sang she through a dream-night's day;
That the bowers might stay,
Birds bate their winging,
Nor the wall of emerald float in wreath-ed haze away.

V

The lily kept its gleaming,
In her tears (divine conservers!)
Wash-ed with sad art;
And the flowers of dreaming
Pal-ed not their fervours,
For her blood flowed through their nervures;
And the roses were most red, for she dipt them in
her heart.

VI

There was never moon,
Save the white sufficing woman:
Light most heavenly-human--
Like the unseen form of sound,
Sensed invisibly in tune,--
With a sun-deriv-ed stole
Did inaureole
All her lovely body round;
Lovelily her lucid body with that light was inter-
strewn.

VII

The sun which lit that garden wholly,
Low and vibrant visible,
Tempered glory woke;
And it seem-ed solely
Like a silver thurible
Solemnly swung, slowly,
Fuming clouds of golden fire, for a cloud of incense-
smoke.

VIII

But woe's me, and woe's me,
For the secrets of her eyes!
In my visions fearfully
They are ever shown to be
As fring-ed pools, whereof each lies
Pallid-dark beneath the skies
Of a night that is
But one blear necropolis.
And her eyes a little tremble, in the wind of her
own sighs.

IX

Many changes rise on
Their phantasmal mysteries.
They grow to an horizon
Where earth and heaven meet;
And like a wing that dies on
The vague twilight-verges,
Many a sinking dream doth fleet
Lessening down their secrecies.
And, as dusk with day converges,
Their orbs are troublously
Over-gloomed and over-glowed with hope and fear
of things to be.

X

There is a peak on Himalay,
And on the peak undeluged snow,
And on the snow not eagles stray;
There if your strong feet could go,--
Looking over tow'rd Cathay
From the never-deluged snow--
Farthest ken might not survey
Where the peoples underground dwell whom
antique fables know.

XI

East, ah, east of Himalay,
Dwell the nations underground;
Hiding from the shock of Day,
For the sun's uprising-sound:
Dare not issue from the ground
At the tumults of the Day,
So fearfully the sun doth sound
Clanging up beyond Cathay;
For the great earthquaking sunrise rolling up
beyond Cathay.

XII

Lend me, O lend me
The terrors of that sound,
That its music may attend me.
Wrap my chant in thunders round;
While I tell the ancient secrets in that Lady's
singing found.

XIII

On Ararat there grew a vine,
When Asia from her bathing rose;
Our first sailor made a twine
Thereof for his prefiguring brows.
Canst divine
Where, upon our dusty earth, of that vine a cluster
grows?

XIV

On Golgotha there grew a thorn
Round the long-prefigured Brows.
Mourn, O mourn!
For the vine have we the spine? Is this all the
Heaven allows?

XV

On Calvary was shook a spear;
Press the point into thy heart--
Joy and fear!
All the spines upon the thorn into curling tendrils
start.

XVI

O, dismay!
I, a wingless mortal, sporting
With the tresses of the sun?
I, that dare my hand to lay
On the thunder in its snorting?
Ere begun,
Falls my singed song down the sky, even the old
Icarian way.

XVII

From the fall precipitant
These dim snatches of her chant
Only have remain-ed mine;--
That from spear and thorn alone
May be grown
For the front of saint or singer any divinizing twine.

XVIII

Her song said that no springing
Paradise but evermore
Hangeth on a singing
That has chords of weeping,
And that sings the after-sleeping
To souls which wake too sore.
'But woe the singer, woe!' she said; 'beyond the
dead his singing-lore,
All its art of sweet and sore,
He learns, in Elenore!'

XIX

Where is the land of Luthany,
Where is the tract of Elenore?
I am bound therefor.

XX

'Pierce thy heart to find the key;
With thee take
Only what none else would keep;
Learn to dream when thou dost wake,
Learn to wake when thou dost sleep.
Learn to water joy with tears,
Learn from fears to vanquish fears;
To hope, for thou dar'st not despair,
Exult, for that thou dar'st not grieve;
Plough thou the rock until it bear;
Know, for thou else couldst not believe;
Lose, that the lost thou may'st receive;
Die, for none other way canst live.
When earth and heaven lay down their veil,
And that apocalypse turns thee pale;
When thy seeing blindeth thee
To what thy fellow-mortals see;
When their sight to thee is sightless;
Their living, death; their light, most light-
less;
Search no more--
Pass the gates of Luthany, tread the region Elenore.'

XXI

Where is the land of Luthany,
And where the region Elenore?
I do faint therefor.
'When to the new eyes of thee
All things by immortal power,
Near or far,
Hiddenly
To each other link-ed are,
That thou canst not stir a flower
Without troubling of a star;
When thy song is shield and mirror
To the fair snake-curl-ed Pain,
Where thou dar'st affront her terror
That on her thou may'st attain
Persean conquest; seek no more,
O seek no more!
Pass the gates of Luthany, tread the region Elenore.'

XXII

So sang she, so wept she,
Through a dream-night's day;
And with her magic singing kept she--
Mystical in music--
That garden of enchanting
In visionary May;
Swayless for my spirit's haunting,
Thrice-threefold walled with emerald from our mor-
tal mornings grey.

XXIII

And as a necromancer
Raises from the rose-ash
The ghost of the rose;
My heart so made answer
To her voice's silver plash,--
Stirred in reddening flash,
And from out its mortal ruins the purpureal phantom
blows.

XXIV

Her tears made dulcet fretting,
Her voice had no word,
More than thunder or the bird.
Yet, unforgetting,
The ravished soul her meanings knew. Mine ears
heard not, and I heard.

XXV

When she shall unwind
All those wiles she wound about me,
Tears shall break from out me,
That I cannot find
Music in the holy poets to my wistful want, I doubt
me!

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