Iâ??m sick, for sure: deep darkness holds my heart,
Iâ??m bored with the people and the stories,
And dream of treasures of the kingdoms, glories,
And yataghans, all covered with blood.
...
How tranquil is this little mountain lake
Itâ??s filled with water like a cup
Bamboo looks just like little houses
And trees above â?? a sea of roofs. ...
1. Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear
in the pine overhead?
2. No; but the voice of the deep as it hollows
the cliffs of the land.
1. Is there a voice coming up with the
voice of the deep from the strand,
Once coming up with a Song in the
flush of the glimmering red?
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