The poem
Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear: Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.
8,657 poems196 poets · 750 BC to todaySince 2003

The poem
Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear: Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.
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