I do not love you, no, nor all your beauty,
Nor have I fear of your so delicate magics:
I only love the silence that around you
Makes a low twilight.
Yet I desire that thunderous storms of passion
For all I am should surge and clamor through you --
Scattering your follies and your delicate secrets --
Shaking your twilight.
That like a temple-bell across the darkness
I should forever echo in your spirit,
With tones of legend and of high disaster
Haunting your silence.
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