Classic Poem

On the Occident she shed her light
who kindled in the Orient of beauty;
him to detain who hastened to his doom
the heaven of the West sought out the Sun.

I, in the Occident guitaring light,
in a love-distracted dying burned;
(the consummation of my little day
was Moon, because my life was up betimes).

Thou gainest from the Occident on the Sun;
fatal wounds he fugitive inflicts,
thou motionless inflictest wounds of healing.

In the Orient still he fans his pyres;
and thou, from out the West, a livelier Sun,
still fannest lives to life-consuming love.