Aug 272011
 

Deep dew fallen on the secret rose;
Closed eyes open that cry again.
Nothing here to bind the heart close;
No bloom can I cut for the mist of pain.

Cushioned grass beneath me, the pine my cloak,
The wind a whispering skirt;
The water waits emptily for an empty boat,
The naked road for a coach as a shirt.

A little girl is singing
In the waiting evening:
"I ride a grand coach
With red lacquered sides;

Without shoe or broach
My love on a dark horse sighs.
"Where are true lovers' hearts
Bound and wound?

Beneath the cypress, on West Mound,
Beneath the brooding ground."
Cold blue a candle flames,
Straining its frail light;
On the West Mound, rain
Forced by the wind in the night. 

Deep dew fallen on the secret rose;
Closed eyes open that cry again.
Nothing here to bind the heart close;
No bloom can I cut for the mist of pain.

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