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Poems Written in 1819

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ORPSES are cold in the tomb;

Stones on the pavement are

dumb;

Abortions are dead in the womb,

And their mothers look pale-like the white

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They are trodden, and move not away,-
The abortion with which she travaileth
Is Liberty, smitten to death.

III.

Then trample and dance, thou Oppressor! For thy victim is no redresser;

Thou art sole lord and possessor

Of her corpses, and clods, and abortions

they pave

Thy path to the grave.

IV.

Hearest thou the festival din

Of Death, and Destruction, and Sin,

And Wealth crying Havoc! within ?

'Tis the bacchanal triumph which makes Truth dumb,

Thine epithalamium.

V.

Ay, marry thy ghastly wife!

Let Fear and Disquiet and Strife

Spread thy couch in the chamber of Life! Marry Ruin, thou Tyrant! and God be thy

guide

To the bed of the bride!

The Birth of Pleasure

T the creation of the Earth

Pleasure, that divinest birth,
From the soil of Heaven did
rise,

Wrapt in sweet wild melodies -
Like an exhalation wreathing
To the sound of air low-breathing
Through Æolian pines, which make
A shade and shelter to the lake
Whence it rises soft and slow;

Her life-breathing [limbs] did flow
In the harmony divine

Of an ever-lengthening line

Which enwrapt her perfect form

With a beauty clear and warm.

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