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Though not quite a maenad

"How like the meadow lark's song, your hair,
How like the bard's tongue, your breath,
How like the god's mind, your voice,
How like the mysteries, your heart and soul,

How like me to love your mysterious soul,
Your god-touched voice,
Bard's breath,
And meadow lark hair,

You, my sweet aphasia of the divine,
You, my scent of undivided wine,
You, my eye's taste of the dying god,
You, my heart's immortalizing bacchanal,

Strike me blind to myself,
Who then, with mantic's sight,
Turn inwards,
Seeing always the pregnancy of us,

And, I say, love is the mania
of your divinity."

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