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 loved wholly beyond wisdom Have the staff without the banner. Like a fire in a dry thicket Rising within women's eyes Is the love men must return. Heart, so subtle now, and trembling, What a marvel to be wise, To love never in this manner! To be quiet in the fern Like a thing gone dead and still, Listening to the prisoned cricket Shake its terrible, dissembling Music in the granite hill. [ 20 ]