A boat at midnight sent alone to drift upon the moonless sea. Love runs a headlong course to desperate madness. For each day of grief or grace brings you nearer my embrace. Ask what is good of God above.
Is human love the growth of human will? Oh fair, oh sweet and holy as dew at morning tide.
Her glorious fancies come from far, beneath the silver evening star. Love your neighbor, yet pull not down your hedge. Ah! The seasons of love roll not backward but onward, downward forever. He is far gone, far gone.
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