Gushing a sweep
Who comes there
Empty of thoughts
No airy form I see
Nor any reason it darts, still
It sieves my heart
All beauty perish
In thy play
Of ornamented existence
No deeper dig
Quench my thirst
In thy oceanic depth
All hued surfaces
Cast temporal win
To my checkered life
Win me a trip
Slavery coiled
To thy abounding inertness
Who comes there
Empty of thoughts
To orb me white of cloths
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