«And a bonfire high was soaring / Over him upon the cross. / Frigid stars are him ignoring, / Inky night disdains his loss. Spinners of the snowy winters, / Maidens of the night, pass by, / Eyes just open, tight like splinters, / See them twist the smoke’s thread high. And the height ...»
«Allow my soul’s burnt out redeeming, / The chance to glory in life’s course / And by my solitary dreaming / To joy in your undying force. You are divine, beyond comparing, / Your merriment and sorrow are / My sacred shrine, my heart’s declaring / My prophet’s calling from afar. ...»
«Never can I forget (but perhaps I’m mistaken): / How in sunset’s declining fire’s blaze / Bled the sky in its crimson demise as did waken / Night in yellowing lantern-lit glaze. By the window I sat in the crowded rotunda. / Somewhere fiddles scraped loving’s refrain. / And an ebon...»
«But pointlessly the light shines dimly — / The chemist’s, streetlight, street, and night. / For quarter-century hold on grimly — / It will not change. You can’t take flight. You’ll die — again find all beginning, / And as before it all will go. / The night, canal’s ice-dazz...»