81
The sun beats hot upon his head.
He stands beneath the broad, fierce blaze,
As stiff and cold as one that's dead:
A troubled, dreamy maze
Of some unearthly horrour, all he knows,—
Of some wild horrour past, and coming woes.
He stands beneath the broad, fierce blaze,
As stiff and cold as one that's dead:
A troubled, dreamy maze
Of some unearthly horrour, all he knows,—
Of some wild horrour past, and coming woes.
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