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THE RED SONG

I tear out, strand by strand,Those chestnut tresses, hiding the depths of midnight,That have strangled my soul so long;I reach to the sun's great headAnd plait his golden raysFor the tresses of a new beloved.
I pluck out the brooding brown eyes,Those lights that lit my darknessAnd led my feet strayingInto endless dismal swamps of despair;I mold the sky's live blueInto all-seeing eyes of a new beloved.
I take the willowy grace of the waves,The sinuous flow of the wind,The sky-flung curve of the mountains,The delicate unrest of the Springy leaves,And out of these I fashion a bodyFor my new beloved.
And last, I pluck out the sweet soulThat so long held my flood of love,And place it back with its first lover;

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