No more shall ye be a bird upon the worm,
Thou hast begun anew:
Emptiness coufounds a brilliant mind,
Free will liberates a sanguine kind.
The time is nigh to move on by,
The waiting time is wholly mine,
The wroughtful sands slow demands,
The passer by casts the sky.
All but a shadow upon the cloud,
All but a flickering of silver light,
All but an empty, illusive shroud,
All but dancing strings and might.
The dusty sands do not see.
For the torrent of broken dust can only know:
The dust of golden mist will always grow.