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    In The Gold Room--A Harmony

    by Oscar Wilde
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    Her ivory hands on the ivory keys
    Strayed in a fitful fantasy,
    Like the silver gleam when the poplar trees
    Rustle their pale-leaves listlessly,
    Or the drifting foam of a restless sea
    When the waves show their teeth in the flying breeze.

    Her gold hair fell on the wall of gold
    Like the delicate gossamer tangles spun
    On the burnished disk of the marigold,
    Or the sunflower turning to meet the sun
    When the gloom of the dark blue night is done,
    And the spear of the lily is aureoled.

    And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine
    Burned like the ruby fire set
    In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,
    Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,
    Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet
    With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.
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