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Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Jugurtha


How cold are thy baths, Apollo!
  Cried the African monarch, the splendid,
As down to his death in the hollow
  Dark dungeons of Rome he descended,
  Uncrowned, unthroned, unattended;
How cold are thy baths, Apollo! 

How cold are thy baths, Apollo!
  Cried the Poet, unknown, unbefriended,
As the vision, that lured him to follow,
  With the mist and the darkness blended,
  And the dream of his life was ended;
How cold are thy baths, Apollo! 



Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's other poems:
  1. Chaucer
  2. Einar Tamberskelver
  3. Bishop Sigurd at Salten-Fiord
  4. The Warden of the Cinque Ports
  5. The Skerry of Shrieks


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