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A poem by Ambrose Bierce |
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Azrael |
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Title: Azrael Author: Ambrose Bierce [More Titles by Bierce] The moon in the field of the keel-plowed main But I nourished a sorrow uncommonly tall, The water was weltering round my feet, Then I heard the swish of erecting ears "O, poet," leapt he to the soaken sand, We shook. "I crave a victim, you see," 'T was I, Fred Emerson Brooks, the bard; "You'll sing no worser for that," said he, [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |