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EROS
I, who am Love, come clothed in mystery,
As rose my beauteous mother from the Sea,
Veiling my luminous wings from mortal sight—
Whether at noon or in the star-strewn night—
That I may pass unrecognized and free.
Ignoring them that idly seek for me,
Unto mine own, from all eternity
I come with heart aflame and torch alight—
I who am Love!
What bring I them? Ah, draughts that sweeter be
Than welling waters of Callirrhoe!
What give I them? Life!—even in Death's despite;
And upward still I lead them to the height
Of an immortal passion's purity!—
I who am Love.
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