When man denounces sadness and becomes noble unto himself,
The crimson light of the monarchical sun rests easy in the
sky
And the plaintive shadows let go of their torturous burdens
And seem to die. The sweltering noon holds on patiently
To the throes of implacable madness. There is no dusk
For the noble man except that which is destroyed
By blissful ignorance. And the dark becomes a private
Venue for all the dreams that bind the man to his home.
He sees in the folds of his collected powers not the Truth,
But an avenue which leads to his redemption, somewhere,
Beyond Time. This is the nobleman’s cry for peace, an echo
of light
Formed in darkness.
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