Jul/Aug 2012 Spotlight |
VII
From the cycle Ismene
Black dress black hair—mourning's diamond
seen by night and day My black goblet
parched mirror scorched heartAnd yet I breathe smile with relief
When swimming the Lethe I visit you in dreams
we drink oblivion and pluck the lyre
which gleams in the darkness We sing softly
and for a moment a flame appears in the breast