Let us away, my love, with happy speed;
There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,
– Drown’d all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead.
Awake! arise! my love and fearless be,
For o’er the southern moors I have a home for thee.

… the open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown – the Air is our robe of state – the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.

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