Fro the chasm of the bosom, bale a hand back.
Hark! my dove - henceforth I bulwark thee! -
Teathers of swans in my pillow - I cede my heart.
Make haste! - I pray - respond my plea!
Lo! - a sire of great awe - a knight of
many battles!
...And of kinsmen weeping for the slain!
Please! - heed my words;
In thy sorrow I will kiss thy tears -
In thy bliss I will take thee by thy hand -
The sapor of grapes thou shalt savor -
And harken the nighttingale sing oh so blithely!
Goodbye!