The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,

And, looking九*九*藏*書 in thine eyes, I overturn

And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn

Thou wait beside me for t九*九*藏*書he wind to blow

What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

O my Beloved, will not shielread.99csw.comd thee so,

It might be well perhaps. But if instead

The hair beneath. Stand farther off then ! go.

That noneread.99csw.com of all the fires shall scorch and shred

I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,

As once Electra her sepulchral urn,

Coul九_九_藏_書d tread them out to darkness utterly,

The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see

Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scorn