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To Cyprus

According to a legend Aphrodite, or Venus, sprang to life from the spume of waves breaking on the shore of cyprus, offering a scene immortalized by Botticelli in that wonderful picture of his.

To Cyprus I know an isle, to Love the long-lost home, by sea's white waves, by sun's hot rays caressed. Necessity, that most cruel fate of all, has banished Love, yet may not quite suppress the present fragrance of a sacred past. On Trodos, pines still share their sweet incense. The while it lasts, no honeymoon can end. Oh do not mark the boot-prints in the sand, but hope that Love shall one day conquer all. Waves even all, long shines the patient sun. What mars when Love, long absent, claims her own?