If life were mine to order and command
Yet still I’d wish, not bid, you to my side,
For you have lifted memory’s dead hand
And with your touch brought flow to that slack tide
Which knew no soothing breeze, no beating crowd,
For such a time as ossifies a heart.
I spurn regret to be my early shroud
And fire-breathed come late to play my part.
Since never was the world remade as now
And all might be if only we would dare
To bury ashen ghosts beneath the plough
And set our sunburst brilliant gold to flare.
And so, my love, disdaining unhealed scars,
Come dance upon the Mountains of the Stars.