The incensed song of morning breaks, The golden lamp is hung, The open gates of laughter swing To melody unsung. Anointed eyes of rapture lift To hills of ecstasy, And like a crystal spring of light Your words come back to me. Elegiac death with templed sleep High set in sculptured stone, where every man Must rear the tent in which to sleep alone. How beautiful the arches curve Above each lid pressed down, and wistful dreams Go in and out this quiet, streetless town. Upon each avenue of sleep is set a golden star, And all the dreams of things to be are dreams of things that are. |