Dedication

Thine is the solitude that rare flowers know,
Whose beauty holds the charm of secrecy.
Of all the flowers that in the garden grow,
None other has thy sweet supremacy.
For thine's the oldest secret in the world:
How to be loved, and still to keep apart —
Flower full blown, and bud not yet unfurled —
Gold-fortuned I, whose very breath thou art!
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