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ALL THAT I had I gave to you, keeping but the barest veil of reserve.

        It is so thin that you secretly smile at it and I feel ashamed.

        The gust of the spring breeze sweeps it away unawares, and the flutter of my own heart moves it as the waves move their foam.

        My love, do not grieve if I keep this flimsy mist of distance round me.

        This frail reserve of mine is no mere woman's coyness, but a slender stem on which the flower of my self-surrender bends towards you with reticent grace.