There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood-- Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. ...
Who'll have the crumpled pieces of a heart? Let him take mine! Who'll give his whole of passion for a part, And call't divine? Who'll have the soiled remainder of desire?...
Off with the fetters That chafe and restrain! Off with the chain! Here Art and Letters, Music and wine, And Myrtle and Wanda, The winsome witches, Blithely combine. Here are true riches,...
Avid of life and love, insatiate vagabond, With quest too furious for the graal he would have won, He flung himself at the eternal sky, as one Wrenching his chains but impotent to burst the bond. ...