Other men have other songs;
This I have and this I give:
Take it to whom all belongs,
Single and consecutive.

Heady ferment in a jar;
Colour storming through the veins;
And the lovely ghosts that are
You when nothing else remains.

Not a snowbank but is blown
Powdering to a smoked gold streamer;
Suddenly every Jacob's Stone
Rouses and reveals the dreamer.

Take these flowers in your hand —
All I thought, imagined, knew;
Surely you will understand
Why I give you back to you.