ABSTRACT
Eric, Count Stenbock. From The Shadow of Death, 1893. Octave I Many are dreams that one should tell thereof, But I have only one dream – I and he, His arms wound all around me tenderly, Treading on air, and flower-lit fields we rove. Sucked down into the abyss of my great love; I think, beloved! thou mightest cease to be, And we, being made as one eternally, Walk a twin star along the light above.
