O Thou to whom the musical white spring

offers her lily inextinguishable,
taught by thy tremulous grace bravely to fling

Implacable death’s mysteriously sable
robe from her redolent shoulders,
           &nbs p;           &n bsp;                     Thou from whose
feet reincarnate song suddenly leeping
flameflung, mounts, inimitably to lose
herself where the wet stars softly are keeping

their exquisite dreams—O Love! upon thy dim
shrine of intangible commemoration,
(from whose faint close as some grave langourous hymn

pledged to illimitable dissipation
unhurried clouds of incense fleetly roll)

i spill my bright incalculable soul.

[of course a poem by e.e. cummings to fit my mood; what did you expect?]