Three Romances — III

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How can your eyelids cover
The monsters of your sleep?
Above those pits they hover
And plunge into the deep.

The night of horror falters
About your dreadful dream;
The dead men by their halters
Hang straight; the rivers scream;

Their waters writhe in anguish;
The trees weep helpless tears;
The rusting windmills languish
And groan with windy fears;

And from the hollow mountain
A voice of bestial dread
Wails like a golden fountain
And tells you I am dead.

O, it is true, my darling!
Sleep on and never see
What things come creeping, crawling,
Down here to lie with me.

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