By Luis G. Dato

We have lived through the seasons of laughter,
Apart through a valley of tears,
We have parted our ways, and then after,
Have pined with pain of the years.

We have dreamed of a fountain of sorrow,
Where joy intermingles with sighs,
Living the day for its morrow,
Earth for the unreached skies.

We dreamed of a home in the hillside,
A hut by the brooks and the sea,
Of blossom-like skies in the sundown,
A wonderful child by my knee.

A mountain-vine at the door step,
A tamsi to sing to our ear,
And you, at the close of the twilight,
Close to my tired heart, dear.

We rambled in dreams through summer,
And roved by the hills of song,
And where earth and the heavens blended,
Together, we tarried long.

We have strayed by the springs of the sunrise,
We dreamed in a garden of gold,
By the flowers whose rose fades never,
By the rose from the springtime of old.

We have strode by the paths of the muses,
Where the marble fountains weep,
Where a stone-god stares at a goddess
Of stone, and of love dreams deep.

We have lived as the children of Horus,
Changeless and timeless with Time,
Partaken the fruit of the lotus,
With gods in a far-away clime.

How happy the days of our dreaming,
In that home by the purpurine hill,
Away from the roar of the thunder,
Yet living as would mortals still!

Yes, far from the haunts of the human,
Hugged close to your amaranth breast,
Away in a hill of the heavens,
In a woodland and dream by the West.

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