Classic Poem

I fell for the candle
With naked delight
That opened the shadows
In fear of flight.

I soon thought of rest —
It was bitter to think.
My candle seemed lost
As a burning desire,

Or a tired god,
Sick with love,
That teemed his last breath
From wonders above.

Can he help us roam
On this vision he saw,
In whose light he relates
That which is present?

His eyes were the spirit;
And the prayer he had won
Was before the altar,
Shielded by veils as the sun.