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The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break.
I love you
When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soiled gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side And called me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist ... made my cheek lie there... Murmuring how she loved me
Be sure I looked up at her eyes Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipped me; surprise Made my heart swell, and still it grew While I debated what to do.
I found A thing to do, and all her hair In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her.
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