23
He sleeps; but dreams of massy gold
And heaps of pearl,—stretches his hands;
But hears a voice,—“Ill man, withhold!”
A pale one near him stands.
Her breath comes deathly cold upon his cheek;
Her touch is cold; he hears a piercing shriek;—
And heaps of pearl,—stretches his hands;
But hears a voice,—“Ill man, withhold!”
A pale one near him stands.
Her breath comes deathly cold upon his cheek;
Her touch is cold; he hears a piercing shriek;—
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