Like the nectar my love has its flower
That will long to the epoch and then fall
With its flourish liberated avower
The working-day light reaching and its brawl
Buried weapons of people's choices to select
Accustomed suffering happiness thought
Extracting fire of centuries prospect
Distances possessed in illusions caught
Arrive from the interior to perceive
Heady scent from the amplest clarity
Hidden in the take of pure repining
Hours of lost in world of make-believe
From the coldness outside austerity
That now to existence is entwining
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