They Say To Me, Thy Clear And Crystal Eyes: "Why Dost Thou Love Me So, Strange Lover Mine?" Be Sweet, Be Still! My Heart And Soul Despise All Save That Antique Brute-Like Faith Of Thine; And Will Not Bare The Secret Of Their Shame To Thee Whose Hand Soothes Me To Slumbers Long, Nor Their Black Legend Write For Thee In Flame! Passion I Hate, A Spirit Does Me Wrong. Let Us Love Gently. Love, From His Retreat, Ambushed And Shadowy, Bends His Fatal Bow, And I Too Well His Ancient Arrows Know: Crime, Horror, Folly. O Pale Marguerite, Thou Art As I, A Bright Sun Fallen Low, O My So White, My So Cold Marguerite.