Within,
And then without
While the moon heaves
Its division of faces,
Across wasted edges.
Smiling had not mattered
While the winds were scattered,
While heartbeats had skipped
Upon lakes of shallow iron.
A forlorn place,
A shield
That took up the trace
Upon the field.
A moon without its haloed rise,
While Saturn fell
To its knees.
A ring to the return of a will,
While Death had not been still
In its entrance
To this fertile life.
Still, to the lakes that remained,
To the fields that grew
A shortened height of thorns
For the crown,
Pain forgives
Its reflection of strife
Upon where agony writes
Its name, in reverse.
Modern Romanticism 