Thy wrestled bones in slumber be,
For fortitude of decency.
My mind with vagueness I propose,
How me, so I love the rose.
Bent and broke her twisted thorns,
All alone my child be born,
Rested from a slumber of,
Her petals of the truest love.
Bloom for me as the midnight moon,
Lights the shadows dark,
Twisted, turning in a world,
Of an ether gentle harp,
I love thy bed, or so to dream,
In the purest waters stream.