|The Kiss, by Gustav Klimt|
She climbs the flights of palace stairs
Her gold and silver gown a charm
Whispering gone all troubles and cares
Worries and woes that cause alarm.
Tickled by rushing mountain streams
The gentle mountains kiss the sky
The sky alive with clouds and dreams
Sinking to dusk with one last sigh.
The fiddle sings, the heartbeat drums
While through the swirling, twirling court
The kindly prince of kingdom comes
As if a sailing ship to port.
Two turtledoves flush from a tree
As prince and maiden hand in hand
Begin to dance, this dance to be
A realm of peace, a fruitful land.