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  • O 'melancholy, your hectic chill for human's soul,
    You with your dismal presence, any spirit does ascent;
    unto dreams of tranquil, restful,
    moist, and sometimes of direful views they went.
    Enigmatic woven waves are your curls,
    You traverse in each mystery we bent;
    where life is few configured amid wild whirls;
    Until deaths, mild eyes meet us in an airy haunt.
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