They called me Annandale, and I -
I took the road less traveled by.
There was water, water, everywhere,
and not a drop to drink,
but so much depended upon
the red wheelbarrow, glazed
with rain.
I hung my last duchess on the wall,
and went to the western gate, Luke Havergall.
There I looked at all the lonely people,
wondering where they came from,
when Time with his bending sickle did come
and then I raged, raged against the dying of the light.
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