Dama (Inglês)

When the maiden took in her hands

A host from a skyward town,
She held it close, reminded of her lands
And lied to herself, donning her gown.

When the maiden grasped a town,
In which pilgrims had wandered through,
She cried in silence, wondering by her own
What had they possibly hoped for.

And did she rose, curious,
Over a crystalline sea,
Embedded with the dubious
Portrayal of wild reverie.

And the city fell into slumber
And the nightingale sung.
The maiden by her eyes went under
Where her dreams were hung.