Now we must part,
my sweet Ilona:
I must leave
for Barcelona,

and I must travel
there alone,
and every day
in Barcelon

I’ll bear a heart
that’s like a parcel
of sorrow that
you’re not in Barcel;

yet though we are
apart so far,
you’ll still be with me
there in Bar,

for with love’s constant
eye I’ll see
your image every
day in B.


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