***
Sonnet II
The young stream, gushing forth with freedom’s blow
A rushing flood of surging strength and will
Affronted his grim, stony-hearted foe
To pierce its tyrannous chest and kill
With his silvered crest, that pitiless heart
That with hellish curse and satanic wish
Craved to see the meadows yellow with drought
And weeping lilies mourning precious fish
But all that is noble shall ever flow
And all that hinder it will crack and fall
A stream whose force will never cease to grow
And put every stony fist to his thrall
So did the stream blast an immortal wind
A storm to hunt every vice-full fiend
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