The Gazelles So Gentle And Clever Skip

Out Of My Own Great Woe I Make My Little Songs.

The Swan, Like The Soul Of The Poet, By The Dull World Is Ill Understood.

The Cloudlets Are Lazily Sailing O'er The Blue Atlantic Sea; And Mid The Twilight There Hovers A Shadowy Figure O'er Me.

The Foolish Race Of Mankind Are Swarming Below In The Night; They Shriek And Rage And Quarrel - And All Of Them Are Right.

Oh, They Loved Dearly: Their Souls Kissed, They Kissed With Their Eyes, They Were Both But One Single Kiss.