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Rh

 It was not song that taught me love, But it was love that taught me song. If song be past, and hope undone, And pulse, and head, and heart, are flame; It is thy work, thou faithless one! But, no!—I will not name thy name! Sun-god, lute, wreath are vowed to thee! Long be their light upon my grave— My glorious grave—yon deep blue sea: I shall sleep calm beneath its wave!

  ! with what idolatry I ’ve lingered in thy radiant halls, Worshipping, till my dizzy eye Grew dim with gazing on those walls, 