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were more than a Lover to me,— Were something sacred, and half divine,— Akin to Sunset over the Sea, To leaves that tremble and stars that shine.

There was not much to attract in me, No gift or beauty; you did not care Enough to give me fidelity Who cared so deeply, and could not share.

Alas, my Temple! I find the Shrine I entered barefoot, with bended head, To pay that tender homage of mine, An open courtyard, where all may tread!

And all men knew it, I hear, but I, Who being a trusting fool, it seems, Went to the Market of Love to buy With coins of worship, and faith, and dreams!

Still it is over. Now, to forget! I know not whether to choose anew In hopes of finding loyalty yet, Or, fond but faithless, drift on with you.

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