«Aren’t you the one who lights soul’s fire? / Uncovers all that it has hidden? / And did you not the song inspire / That mad and random comes unbidden? Have faith! I’ll give you back this life / When you unveil another chantry / To poet burdened by his strife, / From dark to light ...»
«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...»