What festival is ancient Rome preparing?
Where flow the crowds in noisy waves?
Why these aromas, myrrh's sweet smoke
And censers all around abrim with fragrant herbs? ...
As a wild flower hangs its head and wilts
Beneath the reaper's killing scythe,
Ill, I awaited my untimely end
And thought: the fateful hour's nigh. ...
None who saw it ever told it
'Tis as hid as Death
Had for that specific treasure
A departing breath-
Surfaces may be invested
Did the Diamond grow
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