Men who lie with a whore
Have satisfied their needs,
But my poor arms are sore
From clutching at mere clouds.Thanks to the priceless stars
That flicker one by one
My burnt-out eyes can see
Dim memories of the sun.
Hopelessly I have sought
To touch the end of all;
Beneath some melting heat
I feel my pinions fail.
And, burnt by beauty's fire,
I shall not fall to fame
Or drop into death's pit
Bearing an honored name.
