In splendour, as men say dead worlds renew
Their light from their own embers in the skies,
In thy fierce nest
I’d share that death with thee,
To make one shining feather on thy breast
Of all I am, and all I strove to be.
The worthless bough
May kindle a rich coal;
And in our mingling ashes, how wilt thou
Know mine from thine, ere both reclothe thy soul?