| The boatman rose to the sound of his heartbeat
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| Loud in the silent approach of the dawn
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| He glanced through the window at mist on the lake
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| Which hung like a shroud in the still of the morn
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| The silver cobwebs spun with the dew
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| Hung from the bushes in filigree splendour
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| And water lilies asleep on the lake
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| Were reflected so delicate, tranquil and tender
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| The boat man sighed as he strode through the woods
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| To the place where his boat lay moored to a stake
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| The hollow sound as his footsteps echoed
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| Until the sound was lost on the lake
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| He cast off, poling the boat from the shore
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| Peering a head through damp clinging haze
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| He thought that he saw strange swirling shapes
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| A trick on the eyes that the mist often plays
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| So intent was the boatman on crossing the lake
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| That he failed to notice the current that flowed
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| Leading his boat from familiar parts
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| He was firmly, yet somehow unknowingly, towed
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| All at once the mist seemed to lift
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| Sufficient to show the boatman a pool
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| That he’d never seen in the whole of his life
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| Unnaturally deep, black and silent, and cool
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| The boatman’s shirt clung to his back
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| He was sweating both from exertion and fear
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| He had the sensation that someone was watching
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| He felt the presence of somebody near
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| An invisible force prevented him moving
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| The strength of his arms was utterly sapped
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| The twisted bushes converged round the lake
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| Like a fish in a net he was trapped
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| Suddenly out of the water before him
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| The wraith-like form of a maiden appeared
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| Clad in shimmering radiant robes
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| The maiden materialised as she neared
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| The hair which finely crowned her head
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| Was a halo of golden reflecting the sun
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| All of the beautiful women of time
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| Were formed all at once into one |