Thy anklets ring around,

Whence-who can tell?

Like a trailing bell

Thy love’s own footfalls sound!

In the sky at peace,

To cadences

Of thy Flute, O starry King,

My soul athrill would wing!

But does one know

When they outflow

And whither they are bound?

When in blind glooms

The cannon booms

From clouds’ artillery,

Thy lightning-flares reply.

As the shadows drum

Thy anklets numb,

In sweetness the world is drowned.