Each night he dreams he stands upon the shore
of Lake Lalune; a whistling mist conceals
the waters, scattering as swan-songs soar
across the skies and ring in peaceful peals

of bells; the morning clouds disperse as well,
and sky and lake are one in balmy blues;
the shore is sunswept sands and satin shells
that he begins to collect and count in twos

until a sailing boat appears; For me?
he smiles as it approaches, stops on sand,
and she appears in shifting silks to be,
at last, his lover in this afterland.