And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more.
Thus, though we cannot make our sunStand still, yet we will make him run.
To His Coy Mistress
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Thus, though we cannot make our sunStand still, yet we will make him run.
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