How curious, a dusk of doubt
That loosens boyish light,
So clear a splendor lit about
The plain, rainladen night,
And yet again the grimy choice
'Tween wayward paths or weary voice,
And yet again
And yet, again,
A mocking laugh amid the noise.
My heavy tongue, its essence low,
Still speaks the same of you,
The passing of a beauty, oh,
Such an awful avenue
That memory, the city wide
With youth and heart, what could have died?
That stung its monkish pride.
There's a road unmapped, a widewinged stretch
Against the gray and bloodless sky,
It bends and bows, uncertain steps - an etch
Of some echo that cannot die.
I'll chase it down through flowy prose,
To read of its feeling beneath the toes,
I'll chase it down,
I'll chase it down
And not care where it goes.