“The Tomb of Edgar Poe” by Stéphane Mallarmé
As to Himself-eternity’s changed him,
The Poet rouses with his naked sword,
His age fright-stricken: never knowing
Death triumphed in that uncanny voice!
Hydra’s vile rattle, hearing the Angel
Giving sense more pure to the clamoring horde,
Acclaimed aloud that wild elixir drunk
From some black tide’s
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