In the tower of fantastic journeys
Where a half full harmony
Trembles with hope,
There is a poet and dreams:

Come stars of night
Whose light is flame and scorch
But reaches as a twinkle of wishes,
Come dreams of sleepless angels
Whose golden smiles annoy,
Being that perfection into my
Little world where dead eyes
Have seen too much,
Whose hands have callous
Not from pen but mindless toil,
Let me put you to rest in reality
And a poem of my awaiting deliverance.