L'ebullition du

Waters of the scented East perfume my affections, All the dilatory waves redress your insurrections – For, great is the Wind that breathes me in While in some other country, I look for my palladium. Were you calling me? Or was that the sound Of fatal deeps before another deep was found? I have bled out my spirit in the terpsichorean dance On this littoral verse, as the sea eyes the shore from askance. Machines, awake! Banausic Waters raise the tarnished eidolon Time, and rouse hsien from an anacoluthon – I am at the end of my tether, and so goes your cortege; Some poetess will croon her last solfege. Trees, fair Watchers of the Wild, employ no human strain Yet self-effacing promises will not mend this refrain; Of flying, no effect: for replication of a single feather Means to stir the rustic flora and florid heather. Gripped but I will turn from the clutch of truth, And will do in old age as do the tender hearted-youth. There is only one insurance, look in the fire and see The goldsmith’s mien in a mirror of molten purity.