You will dream all you can
Of greatest, teeming glaciers
Where moss covers frost,
Where deserts conceal loss
By the tune of failed stories
Lingering on dried lips,
As the smoke of warmth, as the dust
Is no signal, as the helping hand.
You will stake yourself, merging in sand,
With a face of bright cheeks
As lilies upon the running brook,
Whispering a gentle song
To the birches above.
You have sadness in a heart of gold,
Wondering to the late future
That could not arrive.
My love,
Had we merely been mist,
Radiating without the kiss?
Had we merely blown our own
Ship overboard
To embrace the tide,
To sweep us from sunrise
To sunset?
My sympathy
Upon you,
Is merely a lost blessing,
A found curse.
Modern Romanticism 