Shrivel-Tinsel

Two strips and twirls, the shrivel-tinsel of dreams!
A fire shall turn us slowly in still streams.

There is no danger when the flames are near;
the silver foil can never disappear.

When the flame tangles with the string above,
Elizabeth, take my already love.

Another stop along the way of the passionate pilgrimage. Elizabeth saw more clearly than I did, I think, the unsteady state of my being, and probably knew I had to enter it alone. With most people a natural brake on the wild sweep of the self seems to operate to an extent as they step towards maturity. With her it was so; with me it was not.