We would have blushed and bowed
Had we known the curtain fell
That there shall be no encore
The swan had sang at last
'Tis a bitter medicine to swallow
That there are naught but separate ways
Withal I haunt this pensive place
Musing in the seclusion of consequence
Over longhand pages of curious names
Enciphered in dark memory
The familiar features and inflections
Will cohere amidst parable scenes
Like some procession of ludic spirits
That dance and laugh beside me
By way of nights illimitable, delirious, and starlit
Rapt in pageantry, pleasure, and vice
They sing of heroes' labours
Of maidens' hearts and tears
Conquest and concession
Treasures lost and found
All this mere ephemera
In this dream's lonely winter
Whence we go forth by ourselves
Across this lurid expanse
To the gates of that silent asylum
Just beyond the western sky
While these faces like echoes
Ripple and disappear
Before our very eyes
Our disbelieving eyes
