So little of what we observe, is the girl herself. Elaborate, scented
Coiffers. Adieu d'amour. Vast is the heirs ballroom. Let the rich give you
Presents. Heaven pours from her throat, as she sings and as she dances. The
Fumes of rich swine, honeyglazed and dripping, playing in the air. My mouth
Eager and wishing. But I return to this nightingale. Her hair all fiery
Red. Deep it is and wild. My weakness will be fed. Boys whipped on the
Alter of Diana, sometimes until they died. The cunning, wily merchant, and
His four crippled horses. Tales told in warlike manner. The storyteller by
The fire. While musing deeply on this sight, the songster stirred my desire.
You are sweet and fine to listen to. Long tresses about your neck. Yet much
Is false. This mighty evening, I've seen no face. Turn loose the swans that
Drew my poets craft. I'll dwell in desolate cities. You burned my wings. I
Leave this ode, splendid victorious through the carnage. I wanted to touch
Them all. I wanted to touch them all.

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