for how, in any sense of a thinking of "love"
can one find it worthy to be loved
by thee and all thy wonders?
black are the hopes of those who wish
to keep thee at bay with three soft words,
those who wish to keep thy loving fingers
from picking up thy wondrous makings
still thou art known to be at ease
when thou see'st the strains of boys
continuing their wishings, as thou dost smile
seeing them ponder their dreary heads
to make thee open up thy wonders
and make these boys thy undead
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