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Page:Mandragora.djvu/55

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A LOOK

I WOULD not stop you on your way;
I would not bind your feet;
Or on your shining forehead lay
    One shadow of defeat.
Go forward — if you turn, the crowd
    Might trample you with me.
Let the flute-players play more loud
    And the dancers dance more free I
But once before the palace gate
    Rolls back and I'm bereft —
Turn and look on me; and if fate
    Has any pity left,
A passing mist upon your eyes
Will redeem every sacrifice.