Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 4 of 6
And when I think that his immortal wings Will one day hover o'er the sepulchre Of the poor child of clay which so adored him, As he adores the Highest, death becomes Less terrible but yet I pity him His grief will be of ages, or at least Mine would be such for him, were I the seraph, And he the perishable. Aha. Rather say.
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