Upon the season’s sultry breeze
the lilac wastes her perfumed breath,
while sunlight streams through trembling trees
to light the land of midnight death.
The Swallows sigh upon the wing,
the Swift and Song Thrush sing so soft,
as Eagle, on his throne, as king,
above the clouds soars safe aloft.
And I, an orphan, dare to dream,
though I am quintessential dust.
Beneath the sky, I vainly scheme,
to turn the tide of doubt to trust.
But oh, my Father, where are you,
on this sad summer’s soulless day?
From bones now cold and steely blue
does soul of yours still pine away?
Beside your long-neglected grave,
I stand all statuesque and stare,
as glimmer of the life you gave
pours through my veins like pilgrim\'s prayer.