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Presences
| This night has been so strange that it seemed | | As if the hair stood up on my head. | | From going-down of
the sun I have dreamed | | That women laughing, or timid or wild, | | In rustle of lace or silken stuff, | | Climbed
up my creaking stair. They had read | | All I had rhymed of that monstrous thing | | Returned and yet unrequited
love. | | They stood in the door and stood between | | My great wood lectern and the fire | | Till I could hear their
hearts beating: | | One is a harlot, and one a child | | That never looked upon man with desire, | | And one, it
may be, a queen. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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