A
harried consciousness,
from bourgeois web,
and traps of triviality
is lulled to rapturous dreams
where isles enchanted
conjure exquisite melancholy
for some immeasurable source,
a known but unseen presence,
like wolf's cry on wind -
and to oblivion's black velvet.
At pearly dawn, all wonders
fade,
exposing mind and soul once more to fire-born
day's
contrarieties.
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