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My
nymph is lovely, if with golden hair,
she
brings disorder to the placid wind;
lovely,
if with her eyes she can convey
haughty
disdain, which I forever mourn.
Lovely,
if with the one light I adore
she
calms the tempest of the wind and sea;
lovely,
if the harshness of my grief
into
celestial music she transforms.
Lovely
if tame, lovely if she is rude;
lovely
if cruel, and coy, and lovely too
if
she turns dark the light from heaven's sky,
whose
placid and so human loveliness
one
cannot know without seeing her first,
nor,
once seen, can by earth be satisfied.
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