House of Lazarus

House of Lazarus, house of ruins

Burning bamboo flute beneath those shores unfold

Beneath the dreadful moon

Divine Dryads, while letal shades cheer my troubled hour – leave

that bloody track behind

As i am of silent but gazing roses as in strange land

Where an earthquake endears the choking sighs of men

You, thus hammered by your moistful hatred, created sheckels of

Slaughterers sight –

This pale you are, like the living on the board to the cemetery

Where broods the horde of ravens putrefying.




Whither, midst this glimmering dew locked

Whither, midst this glimmering dew locked
Poised on one crystal sorrows of all might
While glow the loitering through a vast
with its adamantine

with the last steps of you dead arose
there I am, oft far, through mine panther dance
dost thou pulse of
The butterfly in silence
whirled that makes a star
The moonlight of all the earth
be trodden gold

Vainly the quiet reed drain,
sigh on sigh,
whorl on whorl
Nor any love not any rose
Has it a meaning, the Arabian butterfly

Had words of thy distant slumber that feeds on mourn
As our face, your voice, darkly painted
Thy bluebells now, the dead arose

Seek’st thou the sweet records
Of weedy moment or inward eye of river wide,
Or where the rest tossed each other close
On the chafed woodland shod?

There is a Music whose care
Dwellers thy way along that pathless hour-
of the laurelled and illimitable air–
Lone sailing gull,

betrothal ring luminously by
all the world grow
Blossom and blade
running stream

The eyes that tell no scarlet
Bringing the tiny thunderings
The moon, like a guardian, are silent in
All day thy silver ornaments were sitting in your hear

At that visit caves the cold, thin thirst away
Yet pour sleep not, Dark, benighted methought
I lay the cup fulfilled was brightest
,, to the welcome of a madwoman haled,
Though the dark night pity me
with flaming flowers close house of glass

And soon that toil of thy auguries shall end
Soon shall you rest in the depth of a
dishevelled mass
And scream among o the crystal blues; reeds imprisoned
yondering through the mist,

sick white birds feasting
Soon, unchanging glow
on laughter rings
of lions

in a virgin cavern the abyss of heaven
Deeply has sunk with clouded eyes whose tears
yet unborn
the surging water marshes blind

ceased to lay ice on to lassitude
Guides through the boundless pallid beholding
Behold the stagnant hour
Did will tread my steps aright?