Melancholy proceeds joy
As hate proceeds love.
And love again after hate
And back again.
But melancholy remains.
Am I the sighing furnace,
Weaving my verse, though not to any mistress,
Riddling with holes and riddles my
Native consciousness til it be,
By the stains and smokey fumes
And ardent flames of endless burning coals
Which beat all as one while their veins
Crack and shatter
Apart the throbbing bonds in the heart
Of the coal?
For hearts that burn and coals that throb
And coals that beat while hearts burn smokelessly still
Burn all together,
The throbbing the burning the burning the beating
Til one is one and the other the other,
Til, coal for a heart and a furnace of passion
All burn and beat
With joy and melancholy
And hate and love
And we sigh.
And only then the flames subside,
Gently glowing on the water,
Where passions flowing, flow and
Drip like oil.
And run soft and smooth through sighing veins
And tired hearts
And fill up with liquid humour neither
Melancholy nor joy,
Then life swells a bursting heart
And we swell and fruit and blossom
And flutter gently
And finally again we are ready to believe
in Faithless Romance.