A timorous flame that once half-feared the light,

Yet, loosened, sweeps the world, consuming Time

And tinsel empires grim with blood and war!

It is a hostage lent of Death, that Life

Once more in times afar may find its lost!

It is the ache and utter loneliness

Of wintry lands made wonderful with Spring!

Music it is, and song, regret and tears;

The rose upon the tomb of fleeting youth;

The one red wine of life, that on the lip