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I toss upon my bed, am burned and chilled—
She sits beside me sometimes, smoothes my hair,
And even as she tends me, phantoms stare
And whisper shameful things I thought were stilled.
“My love (she speaks—and what has changed her smile)
I must be going (can these be her kisses)
I have been here an hour—quite a while
For such a clear and joyful day as this is.”
About my head the grinning planets waltz,
And nameless things point at her lips with scorn;
I try to call, to cry out “It is false”—
But something chokes me—I am sick and worn.
She sits beside me sometimes, smoothes my hair,
And even as she tends me, phantoms stare
And whisper shameful things I thought were stilled.
“My love (she speaks—and what has changed her smile)
I must be going (can these be her kisses)
I have been here an hour—quite a while
For such a clear and joyful day as this is.”
About my head the grinning planets waltz,
And nameless things point at her lips with scorn;
I try to call, to cry out “It is false”—
But something chokes me—I am sick and worn.
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