The eyes of the portraits on the wall
   Look at me, follow me,
   Stare incessantly:
   I take it their glance means nothing at all?
   —Clearly, oh clearly! Nothing at all...
   Out in the gardens by the lake
   The sleeping peacocks suddenly wake;
   Out in the gardens, moonlit and forlorn,
   Each of them sounds his mournful horn:
   Shrill peals that waver and crack and break.
   What can have made the peacocks wake?

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Marta Miguel Angel ANGIE TATIANA SERNA MORALES saaleha i bamjee noeslotiel