White Egrets by Derek Walcott

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"What if all this passion is out of proportion to its subject/An average beauty, magnified to deific, demonic/stature by the fury of intellect,/a flat-faced girl with slanted eyes and a narrow/waist and a country lilt to her voice/that she should infect your day to the very marrow,/to hate the common light and its simple joys?/Where does this sickness come from, because it is/sickness"

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