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Is your magic really true?
All these things pass, from me to you;
For some we sense; and some we knew
From you to me, would pass again,
Like every day, turns into night;
Like every virtue, hides some sin;
Like we need dark, to sense the light:
I'd fall in love, a thousand times
With he who works, so faithfully
To unbury that rare soul, in me.
If he could but show once, my face
And spark that vision, with his grace.
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