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Mistress Of Gordon

Laying, gazing on the midnight sky

Upon clowdy mountainpeak supine

Below, ruined lands are seen trembling

Her horror and beauty are divine

Return, my Mistress of Gorgon

Thy've marked my heart with wisdom

Return, my Mistress of Gorgon

Thy've scarred my soul, and now it is gone...

Upon her lips and eyelids, seems no lie

Loveliness as a shadow, from which it shines

Fury and luried, struggling underneath

The agonies and anguish of death

My Mistress of Gorgon

Thy've marked my heart with no wisdom

Return not my Mistress of Gorgon

Thy've scarred my soul... Roam alone

Yes, it's the horror than the grace

Which turns the gazer's spirits, into stone

Whereon the lineaments of that dead face

Are graven, till the characters be grown

Into itself and thought no more can trace

'Tis the melodious hue, of beauty enthroned

Arthwont the darkness and the glore of pain

Which humanize and harmonize the strain

From her head, as from one body grows

As rotten grass out of a watery rock

Hair as a viper, they curl and flow

Their long tangles, in each other lock

With unending involutions show...

Their moiled radiance, as it were to mock

The torture and the dead within and saw

The solid air, with many a ragged jaw

'Tis the tempestious loveliness of terror

Far from the serpent's gleam, a brazen glare

Kindled, by that inextricable terror

Which makes a thrilling vapour, of the air

To become an ever shiftening mirror nightmare

Of all the beauty, and terror there

A woman's countenance, with serpent locks

Gazing in depth from heaven on death,

From those wet rocks...

Mistress Of Gordon /

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