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 Because they hold its treasure. Ah, Seigneur, So loved, so longed for, passing strange it seems That I shall speak to thee, to whom I speak Daily in thought, and nightly through my dreams.

Thou may'st misunderstand. Excess of love Takes the pale lips of coldness or of art. And yet my eyes must surely find some way To show the white heat burning at my heart!

Seigneur, not so dissimilar am I From thee and thine. Thou know'st thy father's ways, Ay, and his father's; much the castle blood Mixed with the village stream in former days.

Signs of more brilliant lineage than my own Many have marked in me. Take heed of this; Find me not too unworthy of thine arms; These lips are thine knowing no other kiss.

Think; if thou givest me an hour's delight It will be all my life will ever know. Seigneur, have pity on this love of mine And lend thyself to me before I go

Back to my narrow life. The whitest star May let its pure and trembling beauty rest In the dim silver of the smallest pool; Wherefore not thou a moment on my breast?

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