Address to My Soul
My soul, be not disturbed By planetary war; Remain securely orbed In this contracted star. Fear not, pathetic flame; Your sustenance is doubt: Glassed in translucent dream They cannot stuff you out. Wear water, or a mask Of unapparent cloud; Be brave and never ask A more defunctive shroud. The universal points Are shrunk into a flower; Between in delicate joints Chaos keeps no power. The pure integral form, Austere and silver-dark, Is balanced on the storm In its predestined arc. Small as a sphere of rain It slides along the groove Whose path is furrowed plain Among the suns that move. The shapes of April buds Outlive the phantom year: Upon the void at odds The dewdrop falls severe. Five-petalled flame, be cold: Be firm, dissolving star: Accept the stricter mould That makes you singular.
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