This love, enduring - ballast of the soul
is ever curing, thee to mine, not role,
but a clear stream of commonplace, of knoll,
that not division's grinding can control!
Heart spoken, not then of some earthly toll,
life's emptying - its prisons, its extol
is neither weight's dissension or escrow,
that carrying as to mention, only know.
Love's ballast - risen, tempered...
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