I have risen with the sun
Reached for it on paths made of its beams
No fear of failure or broken wings
The sea a bottomless cup beneath me
Salt drops kissing the blood from my feet.
I have bathed in forest-sheltered fountains
In water clearer than air, sweeter than wine
Tasted honey-dew on snow-ravaged peaks
The haunt of souls flown too high
Then wakened to my bare room with a sigh.
Why pine for what is not nor has been?
Is it the call of void to lesser void cut loose?
Hope, not fear, in dust holds the Grecian urn
Having soared on borrowed wings
I know I could die for art.
