Pseudopsychosis.

A winter sere upon ashen cypress leaves
A paradise among a ghoul of wind, a fragile river,
Where I, I will stay beside a midnight tomb that rose a shiver,
Alas in the time!—the entombed willows illuminate the trees,
And I will wake from frail calls, lonely, enkindled by the breeze.
I will wake in silent hope that glares its rays upon a sere trunk,
As gently a shadow passed through that made me say of this Podunk,
“Alone, brighter than the starlit partings, tides you a dream,
I will rest quietly upon a remote vow, and it will seem
Upon a drafty wind, the leaves blushed, it gives me no relief.”

A winter near upon ashen cypress leaves
The moon will float upon murky water,
And of nature, will be a daughter (who wept on the breasts
Of candle cresses, and she bit on her lip as blood rests)
Where I, I will be beside a ghoul of the wind
As my heart is not of gold, nor blind.
And I! I will wake alone, enkindled by the breeze,
I will wake in a glare of hope, and its shadowed tree,
As I passed through beyond the full ruins of a dream,
“Alone, brighter, no, no! Present upon the starlit tide,
I will give a vow upon the drafty night,
Where I will be beyond a red sycamore weave.”

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