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LOVE IS PASSING
LOVE is passing through the street.
Love, imperishably sweet,
On his silver-sandaled feet
Draweth near.
Suppliant he came of yore,—
Comes he now as conqueror?
Will he, pausing at my door,
Enter here?
Once his lips were ruby-red,
And his wings like gold, outspread,
And the roses crowned his head,
As in story;
And though these he now disguise,
Ever a lost paradise
In the azure of his eyes
Keeps its glory.
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