A mount untraveled,
a tree not blooming,
a flag yet unfurled,
and the sweet colour
of the pale of dawn.

I look upon a crescent moon
and I sigh
in unbridled wonder
that there could be such
beauty.

And behold
tulips blossoming in purest white,
stars singing sweet and strong in dazzling night,
fields of wheat rippling in warm sunlight,
that music bliss and those blue eyes bright
oh behold!

Beauty
that there could be such
in unbridled joy now
and I sigh –
I look upon a waxing moon.

The path is winding through the wild moors,
The trees stand tall and kiss their brethren,
And upon the terrace of brick and stone,
look and behold the aching sweetness –
oh the tale of dawn.