In my thoughts, in my dreams, in that abysmal abyss, I found scorched memories and the lips of an angel I once did kiss.
For her I did stumble, For her I did fall,
She was my muse and my Siren's call.
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.