Bewitched

From that cool glade beyond,
where nymphs trace curves
on the surface of serene ponds
I dream of you.
Autum fled, June’s clouded Moon.
I grow old. I might lose my way
among sensuous forms of noon
that transcend both you and me.
I might chase moonbeams
beckoning from peaks of mountains.
The essence of my life might be a dream.

I shall drink only from your fountain,
one day it will lead me to the ocean.
I’ll sing to you with exalted heart,
pursue your teasing lips, impulsive feet,
set the whole universe in motion.
Until Evening Star departs,
I shall rest on the banks of this mossy creek.