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From the Arabic an Imitation

 MY faint spirit was sitting in the light 
 Of thy looks, my love; 
 It panted for thee like the hind at noon 
 For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight, Bore thee far from me; My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon, Did companion thee.
Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed, Or the death they bear, The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove With the wings of care; In the battle, in the darkness, in the need, Shall mine cling to thee, Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love, It may bring to thee.

by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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