Bid me to love, and I will give. But great loves, to the last, have pulses red; all great loves that have ever died dropped dead. And in the midst of briars it blows. Love is all in fire, and yet is ever freezing.
Whose flame creeps in at every hole! I gaze on thee, and yearnings, sad in my bosom hide. It is good to be merry and wise. A woman's heart, a woman's life, a woman's wonderful love.
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