A thousand poets spun a dream that lasted for a thousand years,
then you were born, at last, my love...
and thus,
were all their hopes fulfilled.

I dreamed with them, so long ago...
and, in my dream, your face was clear,
then, you were gone...
like morning dew;
my peace of mind abandoned me.

Now, like the spring... you come again;
alas, you are too late, my love.
For, though the memory lingers still...
I have forgotten how to dream.

Exquisitely, I burn for you...
but, nothing can this hurt allay,
for I am chained, and you are free...
the Nemesis of a misty dream.