For neither stone nor living flesh am I
This misbegotten miracle you wrought
Not dead enough to bear to see you cry
Alive enough to offer next to naught
If carven cheek could blush, eyes turn away
Or if some whispering fountain in the shade
Could stain me green and hide me from the day
Could my own shame your honest ardor fade?
'Twas not your talent, neither your desire
That doomed you of all men to find me here
'Twas not the quarry, nor the blasting fire
Brought forth in me the tenderness I fear
Joined burning soul to rigid rock so pale
To suffer helpless lest we be alone
'Tis Eros who's the villain of this tale
Who turns my heart to blood and yours to stone.
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