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knowest, Lord, that my desire Is to be thine indeed; Though thou, alas, of love or me Hast neither note nor need.

Ah, though thou canst not give thyself My longing to allay, Yet grant me some small privilege To take my pain away.

If once thy lips were laid on mine (Canst thou not spare me this?) I could enchant myself in dreams With memories of thy kiss.

What is a small caress to thee? Given,—forgotten quite,— But unto me, shouldst thou consent, An infinite delight!

The Gods who send the sacred flame Upon the altar pyre Remain afar, serenely calm Untroubled by desire.

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