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But underneath your veilèd dress
Divinely leave your nakedness,
And still upon your hooded hair
Bind the dim cirque of vine-leaves there.
When in the marble streets I cry
The name my mother knew me by,
Then shall you lose all fear and cast
Mantle and raiment free at last;
But to the wintry hearts of men
Something long lost shall come again,
And one shall give the cry that thrills
The Mænads in their clustered hills,
Strange joys and weeping betwixt laughter,
Ere, with my thyrse, I follow after....’ ”

“Mankind,” I said, “O lovely friend,
Is hopeless in the bitter end,
Hast thou not heard of two that died,
One poisoned and one crucified,
And still another, who with blood
Forswore his life to brotherhood?
Their name is legion in the wind,
Betrayed, misunderstood, maligned,
But they sleep well — the ones who bled,
Mysteriously comforted,
Or those, that even in derision
Pursued one hope and saw one vision.
And thou, beloved Hellenic face,

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