FLAME-Heart, take back your love. Swift, sure And poignant as the dagger to the mark, Your will is burning ever; it is pure. Mine is vague water welling through the dark, Holding all substances--except the spark.
Picture the pleasure of the meadow stream When some clear striding naked-footed girl Cuts swift and straightly as a gleam Across its ***** ambling and aswirl With mooning eddies and soft lips acurl;
Such was our meeting--fatefully so brief. I have no purpose and no power to clutch. Gleam onward, maiden, to your goal of grief; And I more sadly flow, remembering much, Yet doomed to take the form of all I touch.