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Twenty-one years, and a month, in four days
Chapman replaces the stains on the wall
Shadow-hands clutch while my love is away
Twilight for those who do not know the Fall
As I march onwards, through these four years,
Will I be crowned a new Lydian king?
Will my cheek tremble with Hippocrene tears?
Is my bird doomed to be born without wings?
I flush with shame in the forests of Kent
Sweet summer kisses confuse my torment
