The Secret Splendour

She's lifting no small hand to draw

 Homage unto her flawless fingers—

She does not flutter her blue eyes

To wing the hearts of singers.

To sway the banner of her beauty

Above brave minds she does not care:

 Upon her mouth the smile is an echo

Of sunset in a twilight air.

All love we bring is to her breast

Not warm enough for a breast so chill:

 To hear a sweetness earth can speak not,

 Her lovely limbs lie very still.

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