And when the still heart begins,
Upon the droplets of the eminent ocean
That whisked dead moons, courtly, upon love,
That been deaf as the tides and their faintly moments
With sorrowful wind, moved.
When the still heart begins,
The dead moon could shine and sheen above,
With rivers dead to the cold watchful sea,
And my heart withered upon the eidolons of moments
That waned through these lonesome seas, shadowed,
I was washed away with love;
That midriff, slanted, and I breathed
Through the shallow winds with that moan
Lost as the quenched death of stars,
And lost as the gazing moon that would breathe
And stride away from its glance (the dead moon),
With the heart still and the midriff nearly a ghost
To the low candle light that would flicker
And then swelt as the dreams do,
And then go as the dream do,
I was washed away with love.
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