Among the giant pale mountains of the north,
Lies a small shelter not too far of heavens core,
As a glittering star upon the valleys that worth,
The iciness of the wandering wind sailing north,
Thriving the ghastly stillness with a stern roar,
There, under an old decaying oak tree,
He often dreamt wondering lost and sore,
Pleading and entreating murk ravens that bore,
This silent cry of his urges that implore;
"God, mighty God, to thou and only thee,
I beg thy mercy, I beg thou to let me see,
Her Seraphim countenance that I adore,
Which I have seen once and nevermore,
As she came like a leaf during a windy fall,
Leaping and dancing with bare nimble feet,
As tender as a spring wave she yielded a call,
To my vacant heart to love a love so sweet,
Conquering my psyche with a mere smile,
So gentle, as a warm Dutch summer heat,
Her peculiar eyes mischievously took my all,
Making my heart intensively vivaciously beat,
Lord! Bring us together once and for all,
As the first seed of love and life, Adam and Eve."
While the mountains murmured the echo of this call,
His days became dull of melancholy and grief,
Like a saint praying for a sinful deed,
A sinful love of wicked desires and deceit.*
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