Hark! I can hear the drifted voice;
And days that hath once passed away;
I merged with their bliss yesterday;
And today, I shall share their kiss.

Hark! About this lonesome vanity;
Be a string of insanity;
Unheard by those followed liars;
But more enhanced than the Sun's fires.

One about this stupidity;
Is that I feelest insane no more;
I paint, and drown in artistry;
I writ, and none sounds like before;

One about this insanity;
The swirling clouds and haze to me;
Wand'ring in circles about thee;
To be dead now, but ne'er be;

One about this strange clarity;
A fatal clause that shan't let me;
What a perfect calamity--
To draw me thus, to let me free!

How about if I drift away;
Leaving all that I hath today,
And the poems I writ--but again;
What shall be mine--o my friend?

To the sane, we are a disgrace;
To the sage, we are loneliness,
To the safe, we are dead and lost--
And such vain pictures, ah, ain't true!

What are those glad mortal lilacs;
What are burnt, prudent lavenders;
What is this life, I can't handle;
Why do all lovers look alike?

What are those crying little skies;
What is in their handsome blue eyes;
What is their fate that can be seen;
What has life meant, what has it been?

What is this shy nature to me;
What makes the cold Moon so bashful;
What does sound prejudice to be;
What do lies make, what is truthful?

What shall it mean to be just fine;
What does it mean to be in love;
What shall it mean to have a mind;
What does it mean to be enough?

What shall it mean to be pure;
What does it mean to be tortured;
What shall it mean to destroy;
What does it mean to have joy?

What shall it mean to be insane;
What does it mean to die--and live?
What shall it mean to take and give;
What does it mean to be human?

What shall it mean then, to be loved?
What does it mean to be tough;
What shall it mean to love again;
What does it mean to have a friend?

What shall it mean then, to love thee;
What does it mean to be with me;
For love is none that I can see;
Nor one my broken heart can be.