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102

A Woman's Question

Why do you love me so well?
I am only a woman:
No angel from Heaven or Hell,
But earthly and human.
And you—by your eyes' flame I see,
By your heart-beat I know it,
Have dreamed me a Beatrice—me,
You Dante, my poet.
Shall I yield you my soul-stuff to be
Your soul-fire's fuel?
There is that would take fire in me,
But were it not cruel
To feed for one hour a fire,
How sacred soever?
Then see my delight, your desire,
In ashes for ever?