Schwanendreher, schwanendreher
Turning alone in your lonely gallery
Limbs a-curl like f-holes
Hair a-swirl like viol-scrolls
Dark mouth and dark jaw curving into the darkness
Eyes like blue coals or russian diamonds
Glowing with latent fury—or is it passion?—from under dark falls
Of rain-slickened hair.
My dark bird, my sleek phoenix torturing in the sun!
Yearning for the cool blue valleys of a hidden and ancient iceland sea
Purple shoals and violant eddies
Sanded shelves of ice, curls of snow like white glitter
Glittering alone and lonely among the dull gray worlds.
Would the kiss of the lone poet-philosopher in that palace—
The palace of ice—
Ever leave a rose-red, or violet-red, or amaranthine
Touch, on swan's dragon in his Karelian paradise?