I see the wisteria hosting among the cloth,
Why, it will one day be encapsulated in shroud,
And we will all be in crowds, alone,
For if I were afraid, it had already could pass,
And if not to be, then I will recite articles,
While my sleep malingers me.
I think of when the shroud will one day come over,
And wait at our door, with the remark of malingering our sleep, since it is now rest.
And these wishes I had imposed on my soul,
Were only velleities.
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