I awoke in the sunlight,
Trees fading into sapphire skies,
Simple pleasure feeding,
Simple appetites.

But sunlight is hopeless,
Barren of the realms of far,
Palm-treed oceans, granules of
Whitewashed gems, all shimmering
In mirages, waiting for some passer-by.

O’ feathered Apollo, with thine arms of poesy
Outstretched for all, what hath thou taken
From mine simpler mind?
Thine breathless expanse,
Of flowered gold and silver lute
Hast taken dreams of woven thread
And loomed a tapestry of illusion,
For my fleeting head.

Where is that realm of golden desire,
The sun drawn by flames of horse’s dust?
That open vista of fortune music,
The muse of shimmering might?
Apollo why hast thou forsaken me!
Your open arms of poesy, praise soaked in incandescence,
Sheltered now behind your lute,
No helping hand for me to search for,
Even grasp in this lament?

So simple pleasures wake me,
Sapphire skies of pale light,
All whisper of Apollo forgotten,
His poesy drifted far on moonlight rays,
Not reflected upon my hapless soul,
But transferred back unto that source of
Image shattered, and worship flown.