Modern Romanticism

Tell me, upon a stilled solace,

Beneath, when the bringing moon

Brings its tears

Afloat, upon our arms.

Tell me who you love

While I weep aloud this song

To the utmost rain

That falls atop our cheeks.

Tell me, while I cry

Each bedeviled tear to the sun,

And receive no warmth.

Tell me, while I play an organ,

As my heart sits on my lap.

Tell me, as I play the notes of the harp on heartstrings.

I will recede to the grave,

Like waters that travel backwards

From the shore,

If you do not tell me.