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Uploaded by : Ashley Newcomb | 06/13/09

Conceive me as a dream of stone: 

my breast, where mortals come to grief, 
is made to prompt all poets' love, 

mute and noble as matter itself.
With snow for flesh, with ice for heart,

I sit on high, an unguessed sphinx 
begrudging acts that alter forms;

I never laugh, I never weep.

In studious awe the poets brood

before my monumental pose 

aped from the proudest pedestal,

and to bind these docile lovers fast

I freeze the world in a perfect mirror:

The timeless light of my wide eyes.

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