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My Muse Erato
Whenever a Melancholy Moon,
Radiantly brimful, looms low,
And gilds the tops of the trees,
The hills, the flowing streams,
and languorously reclining lakes,
She appears to me
from nowhere like a dream,
Like a flash of inspiration
to a muddled mind.
She glides towards me
like an elusive wreath of smoke,
And gathers me in her
embrace like a silken robe,
Hovering around me
like the perfume of roses.
She appears as an inspiring
source of fantasy and vision,
Like the magnificent Northern lights
displaying kaleidoscopic draperies
in the polar nights,
Like the spectacular rainbow burst
after an intense shower,
Like a shooting star,
Like a blessed apparition.
I take her gently, gratefully,
As you would take
honey from a beehive!
(*The Muse of lyric and love poetry-
one of nine Greek goddesses)
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