Where is it now, your proud austerity?Your frugal folly of virginity?You are no longer free, for you belongTo every lilting cadence of my song.You, who despised the fripperies of rhyme,Who flouted space, and disregarded time,Who thought each lovely folly was a crime—Unlit, implacable and yet sublime!
Now that you're dead, now I can warm you withThe glowing weavings of a gleaming myth;Into your peace I'll plunge a thousand swordsOf burning phantasies and coloured words.I'll show no mercy now that you are mine,Your very self dissolved in my design.
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