#130777 - She is lissome of line, at times seeming To move with the heart of the storm. Ceaseless and boundless her passion; Kindler of unquenchable fire, Nude in the fearless old fashion, Wellspring of lust and desire!. In a chamber suffused with emotion By the light of innumerable dawns, In a house betwixt forests and ocean, Where the briar rose bristles with thorns; There hangs her portrait in splendour, In mystic silence, forsaken, unknown, In lines both violent and tender And colours of thunderous tone.
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