| Records... Robert Graves... |
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Accept these records of pure love With no end or beginning, written for Yourself alone, not the abashed world, Timeless therefore- |
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Whose exaltations clearly tell Of a past pilgrimmage through hell, Which in the name of love I spare you. Hell is my lonliness, not ours, Else we should harrow it together. |
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Love, have you walked worse hells even than I, Through echoing silence where no midge or fly Buzzes- hell boundless, without change of weather? |
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