The Dead
Since you bequeath your living face
And leave your throat for me to lean my eyes against,
As though the one I loved the uttermost had died
And willed me all her golden benefits,
Am I not happy then? ...
O largesse of the dead!
O vaulted throat!
And leave your throat for me to lean my eyes against,
As though the one I loved the uttermost had died
And willed me all her golden benefits,
Am I not happy then? ...
O largesse of the dead!
O vaulted throat!
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