The sick rose (1st draft)
For works with similar titles, see The Sick Rose.
The sick rose
O rose thou art sick;
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
[O, dark secret love
Doth life destroy. del.]
And [his del.] her dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
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