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 | The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes |  |
XV. Anticipation of Evil Tidings.
I fear there is some maddening secretHid in your words, (and at each turn of thought
Comes up a scull,) like an anatomy
Found in a weedy hole, 'mongst stones and roots
And straggling reptiles, with his tongueless mouth
Telling of murder.
| The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes | |