Out of the west the evening-colored air Made a music box out of the treetops A wind harp out of the stars Velvet waters tumble out from the fountainhead of Inspiration and played the rushes Wordless song on the river sighing Forgotten the pipes and the flutes of the dying The air is alive with the stirrings and turnings Of phrase in the twilight like petals flying Into the waters and dreamily floating The poet felled him a tree He felled him a fir and was shriven He drew from pine his boat Simple, imperfect, with evergreen dressing the air He fashioned boards from his longing, and Sacrificed food and rest for ever He forgot himself Distaste in this thing surrounding him Decay The poet amidst the musical waters Became the song and what he had Dreamt of being all along