Why so fearful of a broken heart,
Or shards of dreams which glitter softly down
The toppled heights, since this is but a part
Of dreaming] and the shell has merely grown
Too frail to uphold the flowering spirit
Is pain so unendurable (when breath
Itself is drawn in pain) that we should fear it,
Or does the seed regret its flowering death?

The ultimate dream is wrought of agony,
In fallen towers and shadows: perfection standing
Amidst the shambles of Eternity . . .
A crystallic splendor, at last, demanding
No further measure of flesh and blood;
Immortal beauty where nothing real stood.