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He Tells of the Perfect Beauty
| O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes, | | The poets labouring all their days | | To build a perfect beauty
in rhyme | | Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze | | | | | | And by the unlabouring brood of the skies: | | And therefore
my heart will bow, when dew | | Is dropping sleep, until God burn time, | | Before the unlabouring stars and
you. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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