An eventide trance, allure of the rainy elation,
'Neath the chins of yon heads in dolorous sleep.
I, a wayfaring soul, do tread as in melody’s creation,
And turmoil, on this day of art, doth a sylvan chain keep.
To a lone forest, where Autumn's thistles do weep.
And I dance in whimsy, and laugh with certain delight.
So loud! Mine emotions! Ascend yon celestial steep!
Ascend! Till the end I behold, and there a woeful blight,
O’er mine eyes, and tears do flow, as rain doth anew begin.
I seek the self, concealed in moments of past's gleaming prime.
I, a wayfaring soul, do cry! Let this fall take all of my sin!
So distant, so free, a fleeting spirit, a droplet in time.
