  The joy of pleasant places Where Saturn still doth reign Is in her gentle face’s Calm ignorance of pain. The bliss of ages golden In her slim hand is holden, By old gods she was molden Before the world knew stain. Her body is an altar Wherein is Love enshrined. Before her worldlings falter And cruel eyes grow kind. Her breath is breath of roses From mystic garden-closes, The troubled it composes Like nectar-laden wine. |
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