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On the Lord’s hills, white with lustrous light,
Far from rich palaces reeking of wine,
Drunk on the night and sidereal sadness,
The King dreams in self-imposed exile.
Below, mid the wheat, the…
My lovely lady is like flights of scent—
the other day she opened like a flower—
She is beautiful as angels in the spring—
the other night her sun warmed my heart—
My lady’s lips are the single…