I would know not the despotism, Of moonlight that lies quite unbroken, In ivories swept of all flame; Immitigate to the unspoken, To white for the call of a name. I would know not the despotism, Of gold-haunted June, that is lonely, Because it is done with the past; That owns not a catafalque, only This hour it is spending -- to last! I would know not the despotism, Of a sky, that is swept of all embers -- Not a mist, nor shadow nor cloud -- That festally clashing, remembers No stitch there must be in a shroud! |