Fantasia

Bits of straw and clay and woman's hair, — So shall be builded my house : Oh to lose the world and gain a song ! Let the clouds flit through the window at the left ; The dancers shapeless in pain and pride, From the right dance in as a tide : A spirit of pagan days, sick in joy, That rose at the sound of their stamping feet, I'll sing a song that makes the seas the hills.

(Morality begins, I am afraid, where I stop my song.)

Rags to roll me in, pieces of dream, So with my heart of nocturnal fear ; I have choice of the sky red in memory and art. Let the stars fall in the garden rose : The leaves and my souls in a thousand guises Hurry to the ground to build a grave.