The soul beholds the clouds and grieves,
The residence of fields not here.
My love burns when upon the leaves
Hot greenish fire draws my gaze near.
Like candles warm in secret shape,
These boughs of gilded trunks will glow,
And stars of words illuminate
Primordial leaves of long ago.
I know what ‘earth’ may well entail,
Yet I cannot its torture shake,
Like waters’ deep reflecting dale
Of passing comets’ fiery wake.
So no good horse would shake its tress,
Its spine reflects a drinking moon.
If only eyes like mine would crest,
As leaves like these in endless swoon.