O, bitter skies with speckled heavens!
Beyond the idle thinker’s eye --
Serenely still without impressions,
Unconcerned with passers-by.

Beneath your canopy, on high,
Pleasured moans and tortured cries
Become the same with passing time.

Such elegance, so divine!
And without a chance to make it mine --
How my soul can't help but shake.

O, Master of Fortune and Weaver of Fate!
Your will unwinds in billows and furls.
With patient breath and silent ache,
Could I but stand within those curls!