Lovely she was, and lovely he,
And both of them were loved by me,
In either case a love unique,
Such “stuff” of which dreams woven be.
It is the joy I always seek,
Though it recedes, as timid, meek,
Before my fierce desirous song--
That in the distance grows not weak.
Rather, I hear it loudly strong
Within my heart, and sing it long
A mixture both of sorrow, pleasure,
In equal parts both right and wrong.
It is the substance of my treasure,
Despite fate’s lack of ease life’s leisure,
In turmoil equanimity
Whereby all else receives its measure.