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The fragrant now within your eyes no only I love,
I love the hidden child that through them looks upon
the vastness of this world in rounded wonder,
as I do love the gray-haired stranger who remembers me
from her own nook of time that winter shelters.
The multitude of you, your hurrying hours, I love your thousand images in flight
that are a flock of wild and fleeing birds. Not only do I love your Sunday of such brief delight
but also a tragic Friday yet, who knows,
a Saturday in triumphs and glories crowned
that I shall never see, and praise no less for that.
A child, a girl, a woman, you are all, against my breast I shelter them, they fill my heart,
and thus in peace I love you in each and all.


Eliseo Diego
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