PHANTOM
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he clock has stopped; and the wind's dropped:A candle burns with moon-gold flame.Blank silence whispers at my ears,'_Though I've been dead these coffin'd years,'You'll never choke my shame._' '_Dip your quill in clotted ink:_'_Write; I'll quicken you to think_'_In my old fiery alphabet._'The candle-flame upon its wickStaggers; the time-piece starts to tick;And down the dark the wind blows wet. * * * * * * * Good angels, help me to forget.
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