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is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies, But for all that I have seen you on a high, white, noble horse, Like some strange queen in a story.

It is odd that you should be covered with long robes and trailing tendrils and flowers; It is odd that you should be changing your face and resembling some other woman to plague me; It is odd that you should be hiding yourself In the cloud of beautiful women who do not concern me.

And I, who follow every seed-leaf upon the wind? You will say that I deserve this.