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She lies, opening her teats, strong, swollen, wide, And at her breasts, their equal gift bestowing, Mad Nero and meek Buddha clutch, unknowing, As clinging twins who suckle side by side. She holds two vessels, whence, forever flowing, The streams of Life and Death serenely glide. She breathes—and wreaths of stars are lit, and bide,— She breathes anew: they fly like sere leaves blowing.

She looks ahead with cold unseeing eyes; She cares not though she bear or cause to perish; The children whom she nurtures she will cherish, But when she weans them, every claim denies. Evil and Good gather them in thereafter And play the cosmic game with idle laughter.