Song of My Youth

Now in those days I broke off the birches of wood, the branches, tore the shreds of my shirt, and invoked for myself a crown of my youth and strength and glory; perishable leaves, unuttered garlands green, and flowers, flowers to serve as gems, the thrushes and ushers of the new age. With my crown the sunset dawned cooly in the sky the burden of an endless string of blue days. I was already growing, already changing, alreading having written

Some of the illuminations. Still my spirit was trapped in as if by a cage. Whittled away by time, it grew weaker, frailer, upon the expected attending day when my soul could escape. My soul flourished drinking from good waters, rich wines, and always inebriated, I ranged the grey ghosts of dawn, the cooling tides of even that had not yet flown.

Flown, stretching my wings outward, are you not aware, you who scorn me, that I am one indivisible ageless soul, with the wantings and the yearnings of all souls? That my life is come about through the demons of inconsistency, that I bubble up and boil over, that I contain multitudes of heat, passions, feelings, and that my flame is sharp, acerbic, and will burn you if you come too close?

Incite yourself in the passionate rages of fire. Fire burns a clear and crystal pit of all imaginings. Cast off your doubts, crown yourselves in the laurels of your youth. The leaves decay, the ages come, and the crown

Is all the more glorious in her ending perfection, the leaves go to yellow, brown, red, and gold. Crowned with crowns of perfect gold, we die, the material of our earthly frames transmuted into the august ripening of wisdom. We walk eternal by the cool and flowing streams of time.