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ROMANCE

You cannot find Romance at home?Her lonely opal trail you placeIn some forgotten land,Some dim, moon-shivering strandWhere waves unflesh their fangs of wanton foam?In common things before your faceYou find no swing to toss your spirit highInto an unsoared sky?
Any uncharted moment may open a doorThrough which you pass, as in a golden glamor,To a new world unguessed before:The living room, with its friendly clamor,Is an intense and passion-breathing place;Your wife, the babies, your own face,Shine with new meanings and new dignities;Your pen, your work-stool, chisel, saw and hammerAre live fresh marvels—do others touch such as these?The brother, bronzed from sea-sun and salt air,Has lesser passions, fighting the insensible ocean,Than grip you everywhere;And each new moment breeds its fresh emotion,

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