Burning stars in a frosty sky,
Thread-bare winds from the hollow west,
“Give us a garment of beauty!” they cry,
“For the waters of truth our throats are dry,
And phantoms of chaos uncover the bones of our breast,
Leaving us little rest.”
Bitter stars in a frozen sky,
Tattered winds from the lonely west,
Haggard beggars of hours that die—
(Begging the gift of a golden lie!)