'O I am weary!' she sighed, as her billowyHair she unloosed in a torrent of goldThat rippled and fell o'er a figure as willowy,Graceful and fair as a goddess of old:Over her jewels she flung herself drearily,Crumpled the laces that snowed on her breast,Crushed with her fingers the lily that wearilyClung in her hair like a dove in its nest--.And naught but her shadowy form in the mirrorTo kneel in
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