Such silence I won’t overcome;

Fresh verse that harkens me to numb;

While I remain, both deaf and dumb;

And trust your indignation.

To know such sense of obscene hollow,

Leaves no course for me to follow;

The poignant scent or bitter swallow

Dispels all consternation.

Disperse me, then, in fields I pray;

Where thorns enwrapped in laurels lay;

And I will sleep, accept decay;

With fertile words to comfort.

Mingle hither, fresh decline,

Of tangled thoughts that weep sublime;

Raise the clear of blood-red wine;

And toast of those triumphant!

May you be spared repented dreams,

Of what you’d held in high esteems;

Yet, carry forth, the worth you’d gleaned,

In lover’s kind remorse.

Reflect upon such forces, fears;

That cannot be so tamed in years,

Will never wash in anger’s tears;

But disappear in course.

Contentment, then, should I be granted;

Was true to love, not disenchanted;

And full I am of all you planted.

What fullness, in my retire!

Resume, now, in my shadowed space;

Where once eloped to touch your face;

And now retreat to lucid place;

But I have touched the fire!

Palpitations I expelled,

Of longing, I’d no hope to quell;

Nor testimony I’d retell,

As this would serve me, only.

Bathe in respite anonymity;

Or the pangs of passion’s futility:

No us, or you, or trace of me……

Imbibing on the lonely.