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THE CITY IN THE SEA.
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West;
Where the good and the bad, and the worst and the best,
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines, and palaces, and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
No rays from the holy heaven come down
Up domes—up spires—up kingly halls -
There open fanes and gaping graves
But, lo! a stir is in the air!
At midnight, in the month of June,
The rosemary nods upon the grave;