PETER: My maiden, with thy cornflower-blue gown, 
Rise, when lifting yellow-fogs; filtering down, 
Upon great elms in a small patch of wood;
        
...
    
        O Alade, most beautiful and fair, 
With an eye, like the mustard seed;
        
...
    
        The norm of the sky, the hue of the day, 
When the morning wakens with summer's ray, 
O remember, the fireflies' silvery light;
        
...
    
        My dear one, O awake from thy cold-sleep, 
Like an opening rose in a summer's call,
        
...
    
        After passing through the flames of failure, 
We would widely wave a victory's flag;
        
...
    
        In fragile sleep, minds lost to nightmares' flight, 
On the pillow of darker-griefs; last night,
        
...
    
                    Dialogue.
                    
                    PETER: My maiden, with thy cornflower-blue gown, 
Rise, when lifting yellow-fogs; filtering down, 
Upon great elms in a small patch of wood; 
Carv'd in jasmine filigree, where birds brood.                                
PEACE: I'd rise, like a budding plants on dewy ground, 
And like wild 'range flames, clip-clipping o'er mound, 
Star-like knotted flowers of fragrant scent; 
Under the moon's bright-white waxing crescent.                         
PETER: When garlands are streaming down the knoll's
 crest, 
And the sun leaves the day in dusk to rest; 
Be with me, in early signs of the spring, 
With thy royal heart, filled with balmy zing.                                        
PEACE: Upon the stepping-stones, with me, O dance
, 
With thy short-quick steps, soothing countenance; 
And to the green-coated virgin festoon, 
'neath the ash-stars, the children of the moon.                                                  
PETER: Let our love be seen, like a round-rainbow, 
Over the shapeless mountains; high and low, 
Let our echoes, shred a seasoned timber, 
As we sing sweet songs hither and thiter.                                        
PEACE: And I would hold thy wide-embracing hand, 
So soften, pleasand like a grain of sand; 
Feel my red-lips, embrace my lofty frame, 
Cleanse the sloth on my brow, and praise my name.     THE END.