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I saw a dead corpse lying in a tomb,

Long buried and rotten to the core;

Behold this corpse shall know not evermore

Aught that may be outside its wormy room;

It lies uncover’d in the pesty gloom,

Eyeless and earless, on the charnel-floor,

While in its nameless corpse the wormlets hoar

Make in its suppurated brain their room.

And in that charnel that no lights illume,

It shriek’d of things that lay outside its door;

And while the still worms through its soft heart bore,

It lay and reason’d of the ways of doom,

And in its head thoughts mov’d as in a womb;

And in its heart the worms lie evermore.