To Sleep
~John Keats

O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,--
Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.

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The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Excerpt from Part 3)
~Charles Baudelaire

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold :
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

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Ode to a Nightingale (Lines 50-60)
~John Keats

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

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A Dream
~E.A. Poe

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?

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Bygones
~Bert Leston Taylor

Or ever a lick of art was done,
Or ever a one to care,
I was a purple polygon,
And you were a sky-blue square.

You yearned for me across a void,
For I lay in a different plane,
I'd set my heart on a Red Rhomboid,
And your signing was in vain.

You pined for me as well I knew,
And you faded day by day,
Until the square that was heavenly Blue,
Had paled to an ashen grey.

A myriad years or less or more,
Have softly fluttered by,
Matters are much as they were before,
Except 'tis I that sigh.

I yearn for you,but I have no chance,
You lie in a different plane,
I break my heart for a single glance,
And I break said heart in vain.

And ever I grow more pale and wan,
And taste your old despair,
When I was a purple polygon,
And you were a sky-blue square.

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