I cannot decideWhat to hideWhen I falter beneath what stirs me. Your beauty has hues, not alike the sun,And most unlike the shimmers in the rain.It has more brightnessThan ever a sunshineOr sun-shower.Brightness, that stings me, though soothes me;Brightness, that burns me, though soothes me;Brightness, that churns me, though soothes me,And I am still here

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