Hill Dream of Youth, Thirty Years Later

The river of sweetness that runs through the meadow of lies
Meanders through the providence of summertime.
Seen from a hill, where in my youth I contemplate
The vastness and resource of the Imagination,

I think to dream the consequence of being alive.
In the command of my faculties I observe.
I see the richness and grandeur of the summertime,
The river of sweetness that runs through the meadow of lies.

There is a reality of wealth, the wealth of nature
Appears to my sight as beneficent to my fingertips.
I finger a flower and hold the whole of nature,
The river of sweetness that runs through the meadow of lies.

Live dreamer, living in dream, I note from the height
A summerhouse in the meadow by the running river.
Are there people there who mate with my beautiful desire?
Can beauty be devoted to the purpose of life’s enchantment?

I see in the summerhouse the quarreling couples,
The desperate chances, the hardship and the ill fate
Of a dark nature hidden by the river of sweetness,
Through open, cut windows I hear the stomp of tragedy.

The dialogue is prompted from the wings
We have seen our friends destroyed and ancient Satan
Comedian to our enterprise. We take our cue
From the circumstance, while time hardens the soul.

Yet, I would keep life at a certain distance,
Out of respect to it in the depths where it lives
In the heart beyond belief in appearances
Of the river of sweetness that runs through the meadow of lies.

I dream Plato’s dream of being from a high hill.
I am myself entirely happy in the summer intuition.
Young, I contemplate the territories of the magical,
The river of sweetness that runs through the meadow of lies.