To him who strolled round ancient gates,
in darkness, sun or rain he waits.
Standing with ambition ready to serve,
with his ever ready phrase to calm his nerve. ...
Heart to heart!
And the stillness of night and the moonlight, like hushed breathing
Silently, stealthily moving across thy hair!
O womanly face!
Tender and strong and lucent with infinite feeling,
Shrinking with startled joy, like wind-struck water,
And yet so frank, so unashamed of love!
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