If you could, beloved, manage thus to dwell everywhere, wherever my entreaties make their constant home! Then this fierce form would cease its further assault, would not compose upon your heart's canvas new war-games in love's fresh grove! Trampling underfoot pride's mountain-mass, with trembling heart, with eyes grown wet, as if composing the tale of its own self-forgetting! When deep midnight descends, across my mind only enchantress-whispers... Oh, then at last the moon will rise in the vast sky, the constellation of stars will array itself, in forest groves will sound your melody! The barred door will open... My drowsy body, my perspiring eyes— your cool lips will intoxicate with nectar! Oh beloved, you who are... my great night-darkness!
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