O aye, but dreaming again is to no avail;
I am enraptured by this dangerous, unperturbed soliloquy.
'Tis within a river of shadows, I could sense no beauty but thee,
that soft mirrored image of thee, beneath the shrieking winds - and
the mortal moon; now and again!
Let me huddle thee now, and rant 'bout thee -
in 'tis wrath of harmony, and the lap of its seething silence,
standing unbroken by the sultry day. Let me comfort thee -
enlighten and tease thee, but love thee still tenderly, my dear, my dear.