Karta
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o the Three for Whomthe Book NCE like a ladyIn a silken dress,The serpent might eddyThrough the wilderness,Billow and glowAnd undulateIn a rustling flowOf sinuous hate.Now dull-eyed and leaden,Of having lostHis EdenHe pays the cost.He shuns the treeThat brought him lowAs grown to beDomestic; noTemptations dapple,From leaf to root,The modern appleOur meekest fruit.Dragon and griffinAnd basilisk Whose stare could stiffen,And the hot breath whiskFrom the overboldBraving a gaze So freezing cold,Who sings their praiseThese latter days?That venemous headOn a woman fair,—Medusa’s dead Of the hissing hair.No beasts are madeMeet for the whirOf that sunken bladeExcalibur.
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