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36

A call, not a song;

A command, not a prayer;

No mellowing moonlight, but dawn,

Frail, fanciful, and fair

In the east of my dream and desire.

At the portal of unending desire,

Draped in diaphanous dreams,

With a whispered word of fire

That quivers and gleams

Through the clouds of my longing.

Longings poignant with pains and tears

Enfold, and fill my soul

That aches with hopes and fears

As thy chariot wheels' roll

Sets fire with torches of gold

To my words, my silences, my singing,

And to this black pyre of my life

To take my being on the wings of thy embracing

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