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Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away? (The Wild Swans at Coole by W.B. Yeats)

We lift it up to the Moon at Night and to the Sun during the Day. Our Song and Cry. From all the Lakes upon whose Shores we Dance, we Dream into another Dream. How curious is our Enrapture.

11. Blue Oracle