I have not been not that so much in pain,
I've seen a plenty crimson mist above,
Yet ne'er did wait another rise again:
Hence missed I what I could have had much of;
Perhaps if I had waited for the sun,
I'd still have missed such splendid sparkling view:
Obsessing o'er some beams not said nor done;
Perhaps in losing hope 'tis born anew.
I care not that I waited not enough,
I've settled for such scarlet afternoon:
Which made it more tremendous walking off,
Towards a Sandy dawn, embracing soon.
I was but startled when I did behold:
The scores of sets, yet rises are of gold!
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