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Rh And thence methinks she has that art Whereby her fingers twist Into the dull web of my heart Silver and amethyst.

"A pilgrim cowled in light is love, Who kneels at many shrines and prays." So sang I knowing naught thereof. "He kneels beside the thronging ways And ever in the dust he lays His reverent soul at Mary's feet Beneath her all-caressing gaze. For only dreams of love are sweet."

"And lo, a pagan god is love, His shining head bound round with bays." So sang I knowing nought thereof. "He breathes the breath of burning Mays Plucking from Autumn's lap of days Gold fruits of life to crush and eat, Yet lustful are his lips always, For only dreams of love are sweet."