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I, Lord, the world of men

Confess to find, in leaving

As rare and lovely as when

My lost locks I saw weaving I

Find earth fair past believing

Though I wish it not again,

Though I bear thee, dove like grieving,

My heart of a Magdalen.

Such love must burn its eyes

And take veil upon veil,

Which is like the serpent wise

And like the lion mighty

Yet is frail as the frail

Blue doves of Aphrodite.

Bibliography:

                “Collected Verse” La Naval de Manila.