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Canzonet One


A red, feathery
fire cried
in my courtyard, into the blue-black of sleep.

A wild, sweet
wind from the moon
blew, lashed at silence,
insolently whipped its bare cheeks.

And walking out on the mountains
the young dawn came
feeding greedy clouds
with amber barley.

I was born at dawn, now,
I will die at dawn —
which is why
I never dream of anything Good.

And my lips are happy
to kiss just one woman,
the one I don’t need
to fly with, off into empyrean heights.

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Muses, enough, cease your sobbing, / Pour out your grief into singing, / Sing about Dante soul-stirring, / Or play the flute, play with feeling. / / Move on, annoying faun deities, / Music is dead in your screaming! / Haven’t you learned only lately / Beatrice exited Eden....

Yet All But Once

Yet all but once you’ll reminisce of me / And of my world mysterious and thrilling, / The quirky world of songs and fervency, / But among all, unique and undeceiving. / / It could have been yours also, but alas, / It was too much for you, or was too scanty, / I must have ...