Knowing, at last, Desire—
Lifting your face for kisses—
Kisses of bitter fire.
The Amaranth
Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here ...
Is it for naught high Heaven cracks and yawns
And the tremendous amaranth descends
Sweet with glory of ten thousand dawns?
Does it not mean my God would have me say:—
“Whether you will or no, oh city young