Reconsecrate me, Muse,
Douse me under purest water,
Bring birth to a newer breath.
I have dragged this mortal sloth too long,
Too long the muck of this tawdry world
Hath clung me as deep
As a sucking sleep. Don't you have away
Vials of crystal, good flowering wine that's a sip
Of sharp nectar, buds of brew?
These barbaric shadows, lending and increasing
Like a beating wing, and the hum of the night
Scare me. Muse,
In the spring I was always your child,
About late-blooming poppies and incense
Of wafting thyme. All good things
Were violet and twilight.
Now is the world of daylight and harsh
Suns, now is the moment when pure is apart
Of a necessary past. You will escape. Life
Will be nothing more than these shadows. A few notes.
But can I trace nothing of the dance?
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