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Poems. Wilde, Lady, 1826–1896.
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page: 109

MISERY IS MYSTERY.

    I.

  • MISERY his heart hath broken—
  • Misery is mystery!
  • Let the sad one lonely be;
  • As the Ancients shunned the token
  • Of a lightning‐blasted tree.

    II.

  • Breathe no word, his doom is spoken—
  • Misery is mystery mistery !
  • By its scathing lightning fated,
  • Human hearts are consecrated,
  • For a higher destiny.
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