How many times these lowered lip corners have stood my heart still?
Only the hushed eye can tell.
Persevere? Can I shape the ancient granite?
Persevere? Can I lift the salted sea bed?
So beats the temple, throbbed so oft.

The calloused tongue
delegates the invective speech;
never a stray phrase shall my heart bear lightly.

As do the falling leaves dull the cobwebs,
my muted vision peers through this clouded frame.
Fearless comes the light through this shaded cover;
as shameless as Ophelia in her watery grave!

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