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ANTICIPATION
ANTICIPATION
The thought of death to meIs like a well of waters, deep and dim—Cool-gleaming, hushed, and hidden gratefullyAmong the palms asleepAt silver evening on the desert's rim.
Or as a couch of stone,Whereon by moonlight, in a marble room,Some fevered king reposes all alone—So is the hope of sleep,The inalienable surety of the tomb.
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