Graceful, that shadow, which falls on our hearts,
Graceful this shade not seen by the shade;
Love overflows, but is not seen by the parts
That would know the desire that love has made.
Stealthily and gradually and secretly grows
The vine that has no grape—but will.
My father bends to the glowing rose
But the grape has grown to my window sill,
The sweet intruder has come with a sigh,
The hidden nature of the world stops
Moral vanity. We both die
In a force rising, and when it rises, drops.
If they want us, we do not answer—she
Wants to love someone desperately.

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