Mummy

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Mummy

Thou art at last made perfect; from the estate

Of mushy life Death hath thee petrified.

The soft the flowing and the putrified

That made thee up, is by that artist great

Now crystalliz’d unto a changeless state.

That thing thou walkedst, nos’d and ear’d and eyed,

Eternally severely doth abide,

Sunk from the bands of them that drank and ate.

Green mummies walk above thy walled gloom,

Unripen’d mummies; they intemperate

Seek in life’s beauty their high-crowned doom

In vain. But thee no passion doth illume

Stiff in the musked darkness of the tomb

Hard in stiff bands of red and nacarat.