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There comes to me in dreams a small white house,
on a steep hill, in an air of perfect
tranquillity; the hill’s greenery is compact
and solitary; it’s the hour of blessedness.
There comes to me in dreams a goat that glances
up at me, nearby, small and sweet – an act
of calm humanity, as though a silent pact
bound us. Then she goes on eating grass.
The sun dips towards its setting; it draws a sparkle,
a gilded splendour from the windowed front
of that solitary house up on the height.
And all the sweetness that life has in it
was concentrated in that single point,
that single flare, that ultimate farewell.