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The very soul of beauty I had caught
In my two hands, a shimmering, fluttering thing,
I worshipped, wondering
What words of mine should form its bands,
Matching and weighing, polishing
Each phrase, to string
Upon a silver thought.


A knock upon my door,
And I stretched out my hand to greet
A friend, and so released my captive: fleet
As breath it fled and will return no more.


Dear friend--I love you--but
Why did you come
Just then into my room?