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 Why should I fear the jealous dawn that spreads with cruel laughter, Sad veils of separation between your face and mine?

[ in the saddle]

O Love! were you the hooded hawk upon my hand that flutters, Its collar-band of gleaming bells atinkle as I ride, O Love! were you a turban-spray or floating heron-feather, The radiant, swift, unconquered sword that swingeth at my side;

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