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And I rent the wild harp in my madness, From his ashen brows furrowed the hair; Soft wafted dark curls from pale temples-- They rustled with death--and the sadness Of his face so hopelessly fair! How I wailed to the stars of the heaven How they scoffed at and answered my grief In letters of flame, "Unforgiven! Thou deathless, whose voice is a thief, Forever and ever grief!"