Darea! Darea! glowing intelligent,
In the field of the dusk,
What Supreme architect,
Could sketch thy gracious look?

What close coasts or clouds
Permeated the zeal of your eyes?
On whose shelter laid your hope?
That the Mighty could not seize?

What fingers, and what creativity,
Could turn the muscles of your interior?
And when the heart begins to pump,
What handful twist and what marvelous legs?

When the constellation throws down their spikes
And heaven’s tears water downwards,
Can thou work cause thy grim?
Can thou who created the meek make thee?

Darea! Darea! glowing intelligent,
In the field of the dusk,
What Supreme architect,
Could sketch thy gracious look?

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