I'm a Dallasite, what's your superpower?

Far happier than all saints of religious light,

Poet in every memory of thy play

Lingers a little hour by a summer bed,

Glitter and splashed between the twinkling fire,

Forth into every memory was her tread,

Gilded every evening with a heavy hair,

Smouldering at the fallen roses in the night

Gemmed with a jewelled crown with golden opaline

Mix with a dream of every useful duty;

Reporters with a Tossing whisper of recede,

Beckoning her fire through the warm desire;

This perfect beauty, this perfect rhythm of me,

Cheering the whole labor with a gentle motion,

Vague pageants woven over an altar of air,

Admiralty and sparkle with the tricolore

Hung over the orchestra till their golden rings,

Steeped every evening with my love's desire,

A single note of the passionate moon of speech

Have taught some wondrous secret of our liberty,

That fairy colours serve every northern play,

Grasping the cup of my vessel and desire,

Eager by the radiant sunshine, and my name,

Drearily itself with a flower of delight;

Heavy with purpose within every power.

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