The half-world crumpled its face in morning
The light, gold and white, fell down upon you
Your face, demure, unaware of the warning
It might, gold and white, shine the more true

That lidded light upon your closed eyes
Siren-calling you from the reverie
Rising before you in all her disguise
Rushes through dreams to your Garden of Ede

Now swiftly, surely does she clasp
With lovers' abandon she twists at your hair
Each morning: mute surrender to her grasp.
Beneath the light, gold and white

lay the dreamers bereft and bare.