Devastation
O love, you have shorn me, and rifled my heart,
You have torn down the shrine from the innermost part,
And through it now rushes a grief, sadly-wild,
That breaks as the plaint of a sorrowing child.
You have torn down the shrine from the innermost part,
And through it now rushes a grief, sadly-wild,
That breaks as the plaint of a sorrowing child.
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