I dream no more of varied love, Nor lust for wealth and fame. (A soul afire wings free above Self-joy and courted name.) But let me chant one living song Before my voice is spent, And to that end anew grow strong To shun false ravishment: -- Command, my soul, the mists to clear, Supplant all sterile roles; Then may I sing in words that sear Their rhythm on kindred souls. This grace on me, O Fate, bestow, So I to death shall smiling go. |