The hermit worships at the mountain top

He prays at the doom below his feet

bellows loud to hear his echo

and sings dirges to the gorge.

A muffled commotion

slowly wakes him up

tambourines, lute

His suave bride

“My sweet

love

come!"

Unclench

that creased brow

shed that black cloth

the mourner's garment

break the solemn silence

clad yourself in white ...

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