Hour of Unmeaning

Let the flame pass, pass, abandon its power.
Let the volcano weary of misbirth,
and the tunnelled field get well with grass and flower.

Let the loud silence increase, the desert thoughts lour.
O in my heart there is a dearth, a dearth!
Let the flame pass, pass, abandon its power.

Let the nightstorm pass over like a shower.
Then will the terror of dreams have been of worth,
and the tunnelled field get well with grass and flower?

Let me taste the wind. It itches and is sour.
Let the choking dust be raised all over the earth!
Then let the flame pass, pass, abandon its power.

A black damp cell in my head – and a garden bower.
O let this maelstrom rage appear like mirth,
and the tunnelled field get well with grass and flower!

The hour of unmeaning has come: but only an hour.
The blemished spirit soon will find rebirth.
Let the flame pass, pass, abandon its power,
and the tunnelled field get well with grass and flower.