Like a queen on her throne,
Seated on cherry red cushion
Of sweat and tears of passion feigned
Half-cup like milky moon of silver goblet
Between relentless fingers
Your turbulent heart seeks solace
In the most solemn placid twilight
When the lounging crown rests off the midnight locks
When the ornaments uncling themselves from you
But dearest, my beauty, by graceful-
Your highness
You think the thoughts of fortune,
The very same a subject would
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