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ANTINOUS The rain outside was cold in Hadrian's soul. The boy lay dead On the low couch, on whose denuded whole, To Hadrian's eyes, whose sorrow was a dread, The shadowy light of Death's eclipse was shed. The boy lay dead, and the day seemed a night Outside. The rain fell like a sick affright Of Nature at her work in killing him. Memory of what he was gave no delight, Delight at what he was was dead and dim. O hands that once had clasped Hadrian's warm hands, Whose cold now found them cold! O hair bound erstwhile with the Pressing bands! O eyes half-diffidently bold! O bare female male-body such As a god's likeness to humanity! O lips whose opening redness erst could touch Lust's seats with a live art's variety! O fingers skilled in things not to be told! O tongue which, counter-tongued, made the blood bold!
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Fernando Pessoa
1322
Y