To a Nun
Nevertheless I shall nowhere reach
The beauty of your tired hands:
They know the solitary speech
That only agony can teach,
That only weariness understands.
Although I had hoped, foolishly,
By suffering to obtain their grace;
Forgetting how the agony
Is merely half, how quietly
Your hands have found a certain face.
The beauty of your tired hands:
They know the solitary speech
That only agony can teach,
That only weariness understands.
Although I had hoped, foolishly,
By suffering to obtain their grace;
Forgetting how the agony
Is merely half, how quietly
Your hands have found a certain face.
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