My Elysium will ever be
Beyond the purple hills
Where the Hangul roams the cedar woods,
And the Trout swims the rills.
Where the air is fresh as infant breath,
And the sun a wizened sage,
The moon a ball of golden fleece,
And the mountains firm in age.
Where the harshest word is a cotton ball,
And victory an embrace,
Where twilight brings the swallows home
In swarms of symphonic grace.
Where bales of wisdom render limp
Hate’s pathetic fuselage;
And keenest suffering fails to quell
Soul’s spiritual heritage.
A fresh assault is now afoot,
More envious than before,
To toss Elysium from on high
To a barren, prickly floor.
But what serpent did ever bite
Elysium’s sure ambit?
The more they seek its ruination,
The more they long for it,
Solomon who too was there
Said “this too shall pass”;
Elysium makes its beauties felt
More keenly the keener the loss.
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