MICHAEL ROBARTES ASKS FORGIVENESS BECAUSE OF HIS MANY MOODS
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f this importunate heart trouble your peaceWith words lighter than air,Or hopes that in mere hoping flicker and cease;Crumple the rose in your hair;And cover your lips with odorous twilight and say,'O Hearts of wind-blown flame!'O Winds, elder than changing of night and day,'That murmuring and longing came,'From marble cities loud with tabors of old'In dove-gray faery lands;'From battle banners fold upon purple fold,'Queens wrought with glimmering hands;'That saw young Niamh hover with love-lorn face'Above the wandering tide;'And lingered in the hidden desolate place,'Where the last Phoenix died'And wrapped the flames above his holy head;'And still murmur and long:'O Piteous Hearts, changing till change be dead'In a tumultuous song:'And cover the pale blossoms of your breastWith your dim heavy hair,And trouble with a sigh for all things longing for restThe odorous twilight there.
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