Why cloud the seer on a path needing no eye
And hearken to Sirens on one, deaf to Truth?
Is it but romance to see fog and gold ally?
Why mute, my Friend, whither your words to soothe?
When the start and end be the sods same,
Why anneal Life’s pains into coffin nails?
Why what beckons me, not do by my name
That I, for poison, all nectar shall fail?
What I will, is the road where shunpikes fade,
Led far from rasorial days, unafraid.