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The Travail of Passion
| When the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide; | | When an immortal passion breathes in mortal
clay; | | Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way | | Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds
in palm and side, | | | | | | The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kedron stream; | | We will bend down and
loosen our hair over you, | | That it may drop faint perfume, and be heavy with dew, | | Lilies of death-pale
hope, roses of passionate dream. |
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By PanEris
using Melati.
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