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A Mathilde (Enochian Crescent)

A cruel love, to rend the hoary veil Of cynic, hatred of mankind, and scorn Of all things virtuous, seeing there is born Within me now, with strange desire gone pale, A newer sweetness in the nightingale, Till I see good again. Thy love has torn Philosophy's frail texture, and outworn The sophist's falsehood and the cynic's tale. A cruel love - I find in Magdalene Seven angels with the seven devils wed! I find true love where I had thought to find A spirit to reflect my own obscene And dead desire that scoffed at love - instead Love comes... we part... I perish... Fate is blind!