Give me one little folly that is mine!
Why should I be the captive of your art—
A flawless image prisoned in a shrine,
Far from the wanton tarnish of the heart,
Why should I be the captive of your art—
A flawless image prisoned in a shrine,
Far from the wanton tarnish of the heart,
You do not know the turmoil and the tangles
The tugging mysteries that living brings;
Your pure perfection stretches till it strangles
The stumbling loveliness of little things.
The tugging mysteries that living brings;
Your pure perfection stretches till it strangles
The stumbling loveliness of little things.
Could I but break your dream and make you see
A cloudy morning and a starless night,
Some splinters of a broken ecstasy
The many fragments that are called delight.
A cloudy morning and a starless night,
Some splinters of a broken ecstasy
The many fragments that are called delight.
But your hard dream has conquered even fate!
I shall for ever sit upon my throne
Removed from hope or doubt, from love or hate—
A ghost of beauty that you call your own.
I shall for ever sit upon my throne
Removed from hope or doubt, from love or hate—
A ghost of beauty that you call your own.
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