The unseemingly true scene of love
and my profound emotions in light,
the stage seems fragrant with thy divine
No act ever commenced with such might;
Like wry passion of a romantic poet,
Making the sun-lit lake soar;
And the whistle on the tree banked,
Song of the love-bird duet;
Struggling a trek up a mountain;
The dry enthusiastic smell of the rocks,
And the haste mixture across the twilit sky.
At the foot, on the lake again,
The breeze has ceased my sail;
Now I await a guiding row.
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