II. HER LOVE
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he loves him; for her infinite soul is Love,And he her lodestar. Passion in her isA glass facing his fire, where the bright blissIs mirrored, and the heat returned. Yet moveThat glass, a stranger's amorous flame to prove,And it shall turn, by instant contraries,Ice to the moon; while her pure fire to hisFor whom it burns, clings close i' the heart's alcove. Lo! they are one. With wifely breast to breastAnd circling arms, she welcomes all commandOf love,--her soul to answering ardours fann'd:Yet as morn springs or twilight sinks to rest,Ah! who shall say she deems not loveliestThe hour of sisterly sweet hand-in-hand?
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