In a dream I spoke with the Cyprus-born,
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"Mother of beauty, mother of joy,
Why hast thou given to men
"This thing called love, like the ache of a wound
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To burn and throb and be quelled for an hour
And never wholly depart?"
And the daughter of Cyprus said to me,
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Behold, all things are born and attain,
But only as they desire,—
"The sun that is strong, the gods that are wise,
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Deeds and knowledge and beauty and joy.
But before all else was desire."