Sweeter than Roses, or cool Evening's breeze,
On a warm Flowery Shore,
Was the dear Kiss, first trembling made me freeze,
Then shot like Fire all o're;
What Magick has Victorious love!
For all I touch, or see,
Since that dear kiss, I hourly prove,
All, all is Love to me.
The Lord Monk's March / Hey to the Camp
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