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Poem by Mathilde Blind
Even as on some black background full of night And hollow storm in cloudy disarray, The forceful brush of some great master may More brilliantly evoke a higher light; So beautiful, so delicately white, So like a very metaphor of May, Your loveliness on my life's sombre grey In its perfection stands out doubly bright. And yet your beauty breeds a strange despair, And pang of yearning in the helpless heart; To shield you from time's fraying wear and tear, That from yourself yourself would wrench apart, How save you, fairest, but to set you where Mortality kills death in deathless art?
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