Nov 132013
 
Late, late to the untame game, I come
Reviving live instances of you:
You unrefined, bare singer in an eve
Vividest at its disappearance--
A quintessence of quiet dusk
Fringe-draped upon a ball of moss,
Inept referent for what
Has left us, for what is left us.

Sunset's golden orts depart; 
Mere mud, mere earth remain.
Sing jingling on your rock of dark,
Sing and let the jagging chandelier of stars
Fall ringing round your ears--Let fall
The full curve of universe surrounding:
Cinctured circle of your sight,
Outward round of an inward eye.

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