Among the great ennuis, and great longings laid in ashes,
One only loves flames evermore in me.
Such an old volcano, with ever-mounting fire,
In an aging world whereon the night descends.
Otherwise, all is dead, all is grown dark and frore;
But, by this proud flambeau, magistral and supreme,
One sees the withered woods, clear-lined on a pale heaven,
And the thunder-blasted walls of a sunken kingdom.
O my dreams wandering like old nomads
The length of a vain way, sullen and baffled,
Seeking the faded fields, the vanished wells,
Let this flame lead you under a final sky
To the valley verdant still, where every flower is full
Of the honey-mingled rain of your first nights.