New zeniths, gold peaks, wrought art by the dawn Replete i’a chorus befitting a god Surreal i’ the sound, arrest hearts to beat on Perfect not i’ the void of song, of we awed We be humbl’d by that seraphic tenor And that feigned haughtiness, urge, morale arise! Hoist high the gift which holds none the better Evoking the spirits in a calm’d sea of eyes Turned aloft, to masks or tried bounds of that range, Caught on the line betwixt life and a fantasy We watch and we wait for our lives’ swift change I lament for the throngs, you, that won’t see Souls alight brilliantly, rushed by your song And who will forget you when you are gone?