Look in mine eyes, Beloved! Is it true That you and I have found each other now? And when I smooth the dear hair from your brow, Do I touch you and not the shadow of you That I have known in dreams the slow years through? My soul made long ago its maiden vow Before no other than its mate to bow In spiritual submission; for it knew—
Beloved Brother of the Inner Shrine!— That in the long procession of the years, Slow with the weight of destiny’s arrears, One laurel-crowned would bring me what was mine. So I will offer incense to the spheres. And drink with you Love's sweet and bitter wine.
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