Dead Man by gfullmer
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Description
And the Spirit rose from its marshy tomb.
It rose o'er the breast of a silver spring,
Where the mist at morn shook its snowy wing,
And robed like the dew, when it woos the flowers,
It stole away to their secret bowers.
With a lover's sigh, and a zephyr's breath,
It whispered bliss, but its work was death.
From - ATLANTIC SOUVENIR
Editor - S. G. GOODRICH.
