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 For Cupid, to —

To my Dove-like —

To my lamb-like —

To my beautiful, dutiful.

Where the Opaline Swan circled, singing,

With her eider-down Cygnets at noon,

In the tall Jasper Eeeds that were springing

From the marge of the crystal Lagoon—

Rich Canticles, clarion-like, golden,

Such as only true love can declare,

Like an Archangel's voice in times olden—

I went with my —

With my lamb-like —

With my saint-like —

With my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.

Her eyes, lily-lidded, were azure,

Cerulean, celestial, divine—

Suffused with the soul-light of pleasure.

Which drew all the soul out of mine.

She had all the rich grace of the Graces,

And all that they had not to spare;

For it took all their beautiful faces

To make one for —

For my Christ-like —

For my Heaven-born —

For my beautiful, dutiful.

She was fairer by far than that Maiden,

The star-bright Cassiope,

Who was taken by angels to Aiden,

And crowned with eternity.