  Sweet white mother of rose-white dreams, Through my windows the song of birds pours in And the sunlight on to my table streams. As a clear globe prisons the golden light, So I prison the dreams you shed on me, Sweet white mother of dreams rose-white. In a crystal globe I prison all things: Sound is frozen to silence there; Cover me over with wide white wings, Prison my life in thy crystal sphere, As a clear globe prisons the golden light, Sweet white mother of dreams rose-white. |
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