Poe could never leave well enough alone And the wasteland of words can kill the soul Just as Browning hid her love like a stone Masquerading Shakespeare's whom the bells toll As one acquainted with night, counting rhymes When Keats or Yeats pen a massive 10 line To spellbound readers a million more times Til Phantasm and melancholy pine Away in silent swoon from poem bliss Which caresses psyche to thunder pulse By whisper breath of sweet worded kiss! Oh, how rages the maddening impulse! Mortals be not proud, O colossal wreck! Verse is a changeling, not a phantom speck!
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