O light! My blushed skin belongs to you;
So warm have you turned it again
The wraiths of cold in-fold their hands
And retreat to sodden caves.
And though I know they count their marks
On walls alit by flame—
I know for them you dim in quick
And abandon them their rage:
Faces shorn by jagged claws
Tears cut thorough through icy skin
Frothy bile slewed forth from jaws
Dim quickly, light—please;
dim