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                    À Paule Riversdale,
                    En souvenir d’une épigraphe de « l’Etre Double ».

    Sweet for a little even to fear, and sweet,
    O love, to lay sown fear at love’s fair feet,
    Shall not some fiery memory of his breath
    Lie sweet on lips that touch the lips of death ?
    Yet leave me not ; yet, if thou wilt, be free...

  • O heart of hearts, the chalice of love's fire,

           Hid round with flowers and all the bounty of bloom;

           O wonderful and perfect heart, for whom

    The lyrist liberty made life a lyre;

    O heavenly heart, at whose most dear desire

           Dead love, living and singing, cleft his tomb,

           And with...