I rustle your pain in crunch so deep
Walking thy cemetary, parching lip by lip
Who had not seen the passion riding so high
Who had not heard the music winking thy gleam
Who had not smelled the perfume wafting thy grave
Give me freedom to peck your marble dream
Tweeting bouquet of my loving bard
as nightingale does; the memorial of my heart
To pieces, your publishers tore your lungs
To desert, your 'fanny' cut your loving chord
To agony, your brother died your lap
My romance with death died down
the moment I lived your death, so young;
Half feed, I furrrow thy time, bygone
Your truth, the death; thy death, the truth untold
Your art, the greacian urn; thy urn, the silent form
Your disease, tuberculosis; tuberculous, my vain
My nightingale , my greacian urn!
.........
Please note: fanny = Fanny Brawne
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