O how thou art the fairer form of shade,
For in thy shadow I am not alone.
A better man of me your presence made,
And from thy precious darkness out I shone.
Thou art the fairest tree in all the wood,
So on me cast your shadow evermore.
Thy roots would hold me tight if but they could,
And from thy shadow out my soul would soar.
In sacred darkness, closeness will prevail
With purest joy in sweet, sweet victory,
From oilslick harbors, paper ships will sail:
Our dove-white love from darkness round of me.
But if your shadow lifted I would be
Sickened by all the blinding light I see.