The Sun has Deigned

My tacit love, the sun has deigned, a flowing light, a mystic
Fane. And panting hart, the brook of prose, the gilt of tears,
A rustic rose. And banshee wit, the flush of wind, the pulse of
Ghost, the flame of Zen. And scarlet sky, the creek has bled,
The grave of dark, a cryptic thread. Thus the fantast, alive the
Wave, ablaze the stars, and depth the cave. And fulgent flare,
The light has sworn, adrift the night, a death is born. And pearl
To gold, the stone of blood, aflame the heart, of mystic love.

My tacit dove, the sun has deigned, a flowing light, a mystic
Fane. And stippled sail, a tunic torn, the gale of life, a russet
Storm. And tint to fleece, the glint of pride, the slant of heart,
The brant to fly. And hymn to verse, the birth of waves, a
Cultic flare, a feyic flame. And panting hart, the brook of
Prose, the gilt of tears, a rustic rose.