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I.

My thoughts were gold goblet with sweet wine, yesterday, today i am a dry reed: Such wrestling in my flower gardens makes the fences panic.

II.

O, gardener protector, my heart aches for yesterday, to transport sweet wine to the souls appetite. I want to conquer today. I want to stand tall today but my feet has become a dry reed, and the winds are unfair to my reins

III.

Come, publish the tales of heaven within my joints, and I’ll dance again, by the strengthening of the law of your strength