The days fly by my window like the birds who
having nowhere else to roam, and having made this
dreary town their own, nestle in the hidden kiss
of serpentine dew,
Eden is old fashioned too!
And so all faith shall go amiss
as night to gaudy day resists
all that is, and all that’s overdue.
Bring hand in hand the end of days
may the bell of sorrow ring no more
but may the light of all these winters
never lose their chord, least there blaze,
a passionate fire, uncontrolled devolve to lore,
so that my heart shall weep forever-more.