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The burning ladies lambent in the air, Like some soft firework blown in disarray, Stretch, as to touch the curtsies of their hair, That beckons their bright lips to burn away.

Old gentlemen with nimble coats of fire, Like snake-tongues dancing on the gilded stone, Whirl in the measured instant fleet and higher, To marry burning to the lively bone,

But nod with sleep before the step is done. Their ladies bend on them a widening grin, Before the amusement of the skeleton Bursts, and the red contracting heart caves in.