Page:Poems, Alan Seeger, 1916.djvu/106

 'Tis the city of Lovers,

There many paths meet.

Blessed he above others,

With faltering feet,

Who past its proud spires

Intends not nor hears

The noise of its lyres

Grow faint in his ears!

Men reach it through portals of triumph, but leave through a postern of tears.

It was thither, ambitious,

We came for Youth's right,

When our lips yearned for kisses

As moths for the light,

When our souls cried for Love

As for life-giving rain

Wan leaves of the grove,

Withered grass of the plain,

And our flesh ached for Love-flesh beside it with bitter, intolerable pain.

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