From the bottom of a wishing well
where all of Circe's daughters dwell
and sing their lonesome sirens' spell
to wanderers passing lost and worn
Is born the scarlet shade that flies
stark against the turbid skies
and watches with her nocturne eyes
destructions wrought by flame and thorn
A still and silent marbled sphinx
who speaks no word of what she thinks
but all the moonlit poison drinks
-a child from the Erebus torn-
A silk and satin banshee'd dove
of iron fist and velvet glove
her darling to his death doth love
that she might have such loss to mourn
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