It was a face Queenly and calm, a carved face and strong Nor curious, nor kindly, nor aloof, But self-contained and singing to itself. And as he met her eyes, she ceased her song And made a silence, and it seemed to him That in this silence all the murmuring ceased Of leaves and water, and they two were there, And all they did was look, no question, No answer, neither frown nor smile, no move Of lip or eye or brow or eyelid pale But all one long look which consumed his soul Into desire beyond the reach of hope Beyond the touch of doubt or of despair, So that he was one thing, and all he was,
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