You cannot find your mind?
Where did you leave it last?
Was it in the rose-garden,
Where you danced for days in perfumed arbours,
Plaited rainbows of dreams in bottomless pits,
Sang songs to the sun and played with the moon?
Yes, perhaps it was.
But your world has gone to sleep.
You must trip alone through the midnight flowers,
Bathe alone in the moon-light beams,
Search alone for your blown-out mind.
The dew of star-light rests upon your brow
And golden haired fire falls across your eyes.
The bird of the morning has spread his wings,
He has winged his age-worn flight
He has winged his age-worn flight
That you may find your mind and
Once more dance in the garden
In the sweet morning of life.
No comments:
Post a Comment