On low dark terraces
The midnight violence ends.
Smokers crawl the streets,
Air incantation;
And the spell of your eyes
Aglow, aglow.
To escape this will,
Free or not.
The painted silence
And wounded bells
Ring in our ears:
" The purpose is to love."
Through you, the world
Comes coldly;
Through you, the world
Comes to life-
Caught murmuring,
Caught spelling out your love.
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