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XXVIII


With your head thrown backward
  1
In my arm's safe hollow,
And your face all rosy
With the mounting fervour;

While the grave eyes greaten
  5
With the wise new wonder,
Swimming in a love-mist
Like the haze of Autumn;

From that throat, the throbbing
  9
Nightingale's for pleading
Wayward soft and welling
Inarticulate love-notes,

Come the words that bubble
  13
Up through broken laughter,
Sweeter than spring water,
"Gods, I am so happy!"







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