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- THE TRAVAIL OF PASSION
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- WHEN the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide;
- When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay;
- Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way
- Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side,
- The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kedron stream;
- We will bend down and loosen our hair over you,
- That it may drop faint perfume, and be heavy with dew,
- Lilies of death-pale hope, roses of passionate dream.
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