atalanta quotes

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His speech is a burning fire;
With his lips he travaileth;
Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers,
Maiden most perfect,lady of light,
When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,
The mother of months in meadow or plain
For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the seasons of snows and sins;
Before the beginning of years
There came to the making of man
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