When upon the rustling of the night;
The seed of light entrenched with death,
The dreams evocative and failure imminent
I seek comfort in poetry to rise my spirit high.
Time!Be feared for your rusting hand;
Filling impetuous Youth with sophistry,
Making beauty pale and wither ruffled-
Sighing all to doom in a disgraceful haste.
Once my spirit rosy like a rising sun;
Full of daybreak incense and juice,
Content as a craft in flight to heaven
Free of earth-clasps and prosaic life.
 The couplet has nothing to express-
 No conclusion may bring bliss.