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Normale Version: No gentle touches of your timid hand, -
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No gentle touches of your timid hand, -
No shuddering kisses pressed upon my lip,
`Twixt fear and passion, - no bold worlds that stip
The feigning garb off in which we two stand,

Acting our parts, at the harsh world’s command, -
No deed that offers to our dust a sip
Of heavenly nectar, - nor incautious slip,
To wring a tear, yet calmly bear the brand,

For the great love through which we were betrayed!
Love flies with us on sorely crippled wings:
Prudence, and interest, and the bitter stings

Of shrewd distrust, are doled me. I am made
A beggar on your bounty. Lend me aid:
My heart starves, lady, on these wretched things.