All this moves and rustles,
plays and waves,
dances blindly to someone's pipe
and crowns someone's thought.It plays and sings
and beckons with an apple branch
and at times sweetly wounds the soul,
at times pours balsam on the soul.
Oh, these young worlds,
the low canopy of June leaves
and the happiness of remaining on the list
of the living participants of the game.
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