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The flowers of ancient worlds whereof we see
No traces, have not died nor wholly past:
They flung their perfume on the wide free blast
While living—then they fled from vale and lea
And their sweet tender fragrant spirits were cast
Into the tender women-souls whom we
Behold and worship: not one long-lost rose
But in the sweet mouth of some woman blows:
Not one dear blossom in some far land hilly
But now shines forth white-handed—yet a lily.
They are not changed—save only that they bloom
Sweeter, and with a lovelier soft calm.
And all the world, for one small vale, perfume;
One woman hath rose-lips, a lily-palm
Another—and the crocus-crown of gold
Shines forth in bright locks, splendid as of old.
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