Poem Hunter
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Thy arms with bracelets I will deck,
and with a string of pearls thy neck,
and with my lips thy lips.
My fever-floods shall bear thy passion-ships,
and I will bid thy courage flare,
with all my soul in flame,

and I will crown thy hair
with acclamations I will tear
from poets put to shame.

And then thy pardon I will ask
for having done so ill my task
of singing thy perfumèd grace,
and queenly beauty of thy face.

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