the bleeding beat, it sows so sweet a misery that only jumps its sombre pace when landing at her feet. But Oh! What Dreadful Havoc /Her countenance Hath She Wrought /a cannonball Upon the Ramparts /to armor plates Of My Heart /and mortar walls and in her lacking? lonely notes. from pianos black with minor keys, the sombre march of major locks. Stars shriek of their radiant heat their burning hearts beset by light that only marks their very edges, tiny deaths of blinding white. And Oh! What Fiery Spirit /My bosom rent Must She Court /by basest shades, With All the Blazes /its edges bound by Of Her Heart /spans of days and in her laughing? children's knees. the lonely bones from bulbs derived, while cutting fine their filaments. this bleeding beat, it sows so sweet a misery that only leaps its solemn cant when landing at her feet.