Before me lies a mass of shapeless days,
 Unseparated atoms, and I must
 Sort them apart and live them. Sifted dust
 Covers the formless heap. Reprieves, delays,
 There are none, ever. As a monk who prays
 The sliding beads asunder, so I thrust
 Each tasteless particle aside, and just
 Begin again the task which never stays.
 And I have known a glory of great suns.
 When days flashed by, pulsing with joy and fire!
 Drunk bubbled wine in goblets of desire,
 And felt the whipped blood laughing as it runs!
 Split is that liquor, my too hasty hand
 Threw down the cup, and did not understand.