At the path he made his way near,
Constant by his ear that none here
Made every attempt but ill attempt,
Paid for not his worth but contempt,
Alas greeted turns in life his,
Beheld himself now perilous;
For the dark once was now blighted,
That the door opened had lighted
The only sanctum of his sphere,
That none but a stranger ere fear!

Category:
Mysterious, Nature, Poetry, Works
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