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Hymn of Summer
The zealous breezes from the four corners of the universe are pilgrims unto the forest-shrine where I pray.
Confess, mortals, the deep-grounded sins of thy memory-record unto the God of the Woodland!
Ah, wonderful is the sacred remedy ensainting mortals' self-love at the forest-shrine!
Listen! The sorrowless birds rejoice at the revealing of the Perfect Day; they bend not their wishes unto titles and gold.
Enter into Paradise, mortals,—the guardian-birds of the hidden gate call thee!
Come, Goddess, whose maiden eye-doors are enameled with the dethroned stars of heaven—
Confess, mortals, the deep-grounded sins of thy memory-record unto the God of the Woodland!
Ah, wonderful is the sacred remedy ensainting mortals' self-love at the forest-shrine!
Listen! The sorrowless birds rejoice at the revealing of the Perfect Day; they bend not their wishes unto titles and gold.
Enter into Paradise, mortals,—the guardian-birds of the hidden gate call thee!
Come, Goddess, whose maiden eye-doors are enameled with the dethroned stars of heaven—
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