The Song Of Great Hope There upon the table Lay fruits and flowers. Lowering my Love to sleep. I couldn’t count the days that had passed It was more a conjecture of the capacity Of hours contained. And the like. I troubled myself about mysteries; Looming near you, near I, These suppositions caught my eye in vain For I couldn’t believe the truth. We are beautiful, aren’t we? In this touched state of mind, That we are elegant towards the dead, yet, We trouble our souls for time, for time forevermore. My conclusions on the soul Was that it can be surfaced— As the lyre is sung, from the chorus Of creatures far greater than we… In sacrifice and in beauty. Sing of those, Sweet hope!

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