The Other Sequel: Suitor Distraught?

Heavens. Solitary wanderings.
What end is there to limit?
Stranger pursuits, perhaps, though thoughtless,
Wander.
Fences have more freedom than this rope:
This tight rope that binds me.
Bound in reckless freedom.
Heavens. The swallows reach those limits,
But I, no, not I.
Heavens.

The Sequel: Damsel Sought

It is not right; it is not right.
The rose wilts; the green grass has lost it's color:
It now drifts from place to place,
Easily caught by flaunting winds.
A grain of sand travels the world over;
The waves carry it.
The waves carry a grain of sand,
It does not object.
But where is the place of a white fleck,
When it is found on a brown shore?

The Damsel is in Distress

Ah, impatience. Sweet ambrosia would never taste so good....
The rose, however, lacks indulgence, lacks passion.
A torrent sea would be more soothing,
A dragon more slothful,
A firefly less eager than the sun to shine at night;
How fitting, it would seem, to bask in those oneiric wishes;
How wrong: the truth is severe.
Ah, impatience.