Walking on the gold beneath our feet
in this damn land we grew up doomed
orange halogens in two sides of the street
leading us toward unknown paths of defeat ...
Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say,
Though late it be, though lily-time be past,
Though all the summer skies be overcast,
Haply I will go down to her, some day,
And cast my rests of life before her feet,
That she may have her will of me, being so sweet
And none gainsay!