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Division
If it were nothing but some sheer abyss
Opened between us; if some icy sea,
Whose sword of waters clove ’twixt kiss and kiss,
Hid your small garden’s dreaming face from me,
I should have faith, and parting would have end.
I think our feet would cross on rainbows, friend.
For love knows patient ways of building strong
Bridges and stairs. Love flies with secret wings;
Love’s shining wind shakes cities with a song,
Swirls wet pink blossoms round bewildered kings.
But there is more to conquer — all that long
Pageant of ghosts, in stained and tattered dress —
The swift, mistaken word, the unmeant wrong,
The pride, grown harsh at last for loneliness.
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