Ah! Your shadow was nice to me
In such a lunatic summer bliss;
But who is going to be in love again,
For love is dead, my friend?

And yet, in the wind, I can still see
That you once longed to be with me;
And who can say, and to be free
I am not to love, nor cherish today.

What is the feel of summer sunshine
You are not here, you are not mine;
And you are not to be near tonight,
All the fates in this world have been mean.

Who is to be my summer sunshine
And the gentle merit of the night;
To help make righteous the broken light,
Descend it upon colourful hues.

Who is to be my pale loneliness
And light up my soundless *****;
What is this painful, and thin bloom
Born to such weird brokenness?

Who is to comprehend my soul
And taint me with scorching cold;
I can no longer stand the summer heat
Too much to feel, too weak to need.

Who is to seal himself against such tears
And the bittersweet mouth of the Night;
Who sleeps behind the fluorescent light,
Beyond his amber sight, to embrace.

Who shall rain himself with my love, and be
The celtic rainbow I shall live to see,
And who hath lived, who wants more
To feel in love like never before?

Who shall be my poisoned delight;
And such delight can cause sickness,
To be kissed by me, the temptress;
In white senseless, sensous caresses.

Who shall be my white star, and moon
To be the gate to my afternoon;
And to begin as my lover
Into the lulled dream of forever.

Who shall be my curse, and fate
To be light and well just in death,
And tempt me more with regal breath
To live more, and not be dead?

Who is the temptuous wave, and craze
To make my life a swirling maze;
And in haze dab kisses at my lips
Living love at my fingertips.

Who is the choir, and violent chorus;
That I shall have forgotten rivalry,
And I, at that midnight, shyly blush,
Who can fight the handsome destiny?

Who is the strongest storm, and why
All the midnight earth is so dubious;
And love has had me curious,
In my daylight fantasy about the sky.

Who is the virtuous Rain, and then
I hath to run away, and begin again
To be born again like this, anew
Knowing thou hath been real, and true

Who is the vigilant Thunder, yet
The best of me is still in my head;
And not many theories hath been in poetry
I hath not excited all the joys in me.

Who is the vile Cloud, and thus
I miss winters still, and must
I shall love then, much as in a poem
And entrap love, as in words.

Who is the vicious dance, and hence
I shall not again be the sole *****
My heart, be home to another then
That he shan't ask why, nor when.

Who is the virile Night, and so
I shall stay about, be in the know
Who is to claim my song, and words
Who shall kidnap me in his worlds?

Who is the violent Light, and again
Who is to be my sarcastic dance?
I am just a faint, untouched *****
That in a sore halt, faded.

Who is to be my tasty Moon, and back
To be the love I hath yet to make
And to give, whilst I shall take
Behind me, by the lake.

Who is the triumphant Touch, and be
Beyond the buoyant Might to the sea
Entranced only by the transparent night,
Too risky to envision, but bright;

Who is the victorious, and he
From the voyage of Destiny
Crossing such seas, just all right
Arriving in the morning and at night;

Who is the colourful love, and me
Behind all the hatred and meanings I see;
I see there a wonderful light, and yet
I am ready not to transgress tonight.