The Death-Bringer
A word was spoken—a breath of frost
Struck love with an icy chill;
Two hearts went limping, joy was lost
And wandered lone on a tempest hill.
The flowers of the soul their petals shed;
Music was silent and art fell dead.
Struck love with an icy chill;
Two hearts went limping, joy was lost
And wandered lone on a tempest hill.
The flowers of the soul their petals shed;
Music was silent and art fell dead.
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