Flap not thy wings across my face, nor let
Thy ghastly visage, horrible shadow! freeze
My staring eye-balls! Let me fly, O Death!
Thy chilling presence, and implore thy soft
And merciful brother,[2] dewy Sleep, to drip
Papaverous balsam on my eyes, and lull
My throbbing temples on his lap to rest!
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The day-spring reddens: the first few, faint streaks,
Mingling and brightening o’er the eastern skies,