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 They found me still on that sun-warmed seat, With the damask-rose petals strewn on the ground.

But they did not know that their voices took A tone like the wind in a sepulchre; They did not know that a heathen book Had made me a monk for evermore!
 * SUPREME UNCTION

UT of the eternal night, Rumours and murmurs infinite, Come to me where here I sit, Watching in silence where dead love lies, Pouring balm upon his closed eyes, Anointing him with memories. They are deep, the reservoirs of the night! They are deep, the wells of the infinite! And who can say but love may stir While I pour balm, while I pour myrrh; And rise like a flame and wander free Over the land, over the sea, And in the end come back to me?