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LIME, and birch, and aspen branches quiver ...
The moon sheds petals on the river....


Like long hair in the breeze of evening streaming,
In odour lies the river dark and dreaming,
The river like a looking-glass is gleaming.


The oar drips whitely through the dark,
In the dream glides my barque.


My barque glides over the unreal
River into the ideal....


The oars I poise are sister and brother,
One is Languor, Silence the other.


Row, my heart, by rushes tall,
With cadenced oars that rise and fall,
Row with eyes closed unto all.


The moon to listen leaning on the hill is,
Because the gliding of my boat so still is ...
Upon my cloak die, freshly cut, three lilies.


Towards thy lips, voluptuous Night and pale,
The pent-up longings of my soul exhale ...
Hair of the silvered nights combed over reeds that quiver....


Like the moon on the reed-beds,
Like the oar on the river,
My soul in sighs its petals sheds.