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42 “I saw his wing through twilight flit, “And once so near me he alit “I could have smote, but lack’d the strength; “But the slight motion of my hand, “And feeble scratching of the sand, “The exerted throat’s faint struggling noise, “Which scarcely could be call’d a voice, “Together scared him off at length.— “I know no more—my latest dream “Is something of a lovely star “Which fix’d my dull eyes from afar, “And went and came with wandering beam, “And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense “Sensation of recurring sense, “And then subsiding back to death, “And then again a little breath, “A little thrill, a short suspense, “An icy sickness curdling o’er “My heart, and sparks that cross’d my brain— “A gasp, a throb, a start of pain, “A sigh, and nothing more.