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“Itself its best excuse, it asks
No leave of pride or fashion
When silken zone or homespun frock
It stirs with throbs of passion.
“You think me deaf and blind: you bring
Your winning graces hither
As free as if from cradle-time
We two had played together.
“You tempt me with your laughing eyes,
Your cheek of sundown's blushes,
A motion as of waving grain,
A music as of thrushes.
“The plaything of your summer sport,
The spells you weave around me
You cannot at your will undo,
Nor leave me as you found me.
“You go as lightly as you came,
Your life is well without me;
What care you that these hills will close
Like prison-walls about me?
“No mood is mine to seek a wife,
Or daughter for my mother:
Who loves you loses in that love
All power to love another!
“I dare your pity or your scorn,
With pride your own exceeding;
I fling my heart into your lap
Without a word of pleading.”
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