Where the wind sounds hollow, empty caskets
Paling flasks of muscatel wine
By country lakes, on the sloping banks
Love-in-idleness blows easy on the vine
Such ruptured groves I have not known
Might we consummate our past?
By our polished bones grows the hymn like rose
Fated to rise from weeping ash
Though my flesh be chained to the moonlit grave
As August rains shake autumnal leaf
There I wait by the stonework gate
I’ll come unto you from across eternities
If our faith be laid this coming May
Or some festival of summer’s end
Down wine-socked streets, in the waning heat
You may see me there, my friend
By the pane where children laid baskets of wicker
Moon shadows flicker on a dark and lulling sea
Though my course be made through waters passing bitter
I’ll come unto you from across eternities
I hope we find some vein in the mountains
Fountainous blue, rolling clover, scorched oak trees
And so, it’s true; you’re all I’ve wanted
I will haunt you from across eternities
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