A Melody... Not Yet Ended

O ages...
where is my net?...
From threads of illusions
I braided it...

O ages...
where is my pail?...
From the mirage of my soul
I molded it...

O ages...
where am I?...
Of the pains of glory,
a fullness...
and from the horizons of the heights,
a quenching...

O ages...
where are you?...
From the depths of the phantoms,
peals of laughter...
and from beyond the dusk,
curtains of black...

Then twist... twist, O ages,
and pull out... pull out from my breast —
the ribs —
the pegs of your tents...
Rattle the bones of my fingers,
pebbles in your palms...
And stand still one blue instant
while I bid farewell to my bloodied heart...
For in the prayer-niche
its glitter is breaking,
and the incense is a bending...
in flight...
and absence is dew,
in shame...
and the melody...
a going... and a coming...

O ages... where is my net?...
Where is my pail?...
Where am I?...
Where are you?...
Stop... stop an instant,
for within my being
is a melody...
not yet ended...