  I am not other than men are, you say? But faulty and failing? And your love can lend No glory of illusion to o'erlay The lack, and make me seem one in whom blend Nobilities wherein your heart may lose All that it feels of flaw in me, or rues? Can it so be? Did ever woman love Whose faith wreathed not about the brow she chose Aureolas illumining him above All that another thinks he is, or knows? I ask it bravely, for the way is long, And, haloless, should I not lead you wrong? |
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