HEART KNOWS NO OTHER ANCHOR
There in the breeze her tresses blow free,
I'd have my fingers sail through such a sea,
I'd have her beauty anchor me, anchor me.
I spy her face almost everywhere,
by the window, at the door on top of the stair.
Yes I see her face, I see her hair.
But like a sailor who is bond-free,
or like a poet for whom safe ports can never be,
could she anchor me ? Could she anchor me ?
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