Lamentation of a Lost Heart
The moon had risen its light
Into my bosom taking a flight.
Lofted from pedestal, arise
from this life's caprice
so delight
still but cries.
Life's mortality lowed, renounce
Its memories; never pronounce
The blades, the grass forbade.
Yet the cup of mad,
the death, announce:
Love is bad.
If you yourself, befall;
Then you yourself, a fool.
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