I do not know, I cannot say
Why whispering willows swing and sway
And though the slow and solemn stream
Sings truths within its soft requiem
It is a music few can play.
I mourn the moon with every gaze
For if the beauty of its rays
Will e’re be captured but in dreams
I do not know.
My dearest dictions can’t display
The fragrant blooms of life’s bouquet
But if I caught that obtuse theme
And held it fast, with eyes agleam
Would then the magic still remain?
I cannot say.