In case of emergency, chihuahua is my blood type

Dripping into this bed, for a solemn smother

Crackled and sharply glistening, with powdered wings

Melted like an hour through the sealed lectric sheen

Unto my music, it grew twilight in the flash

Of his clasped memory, and our colours won

Into the garden, the old shimmering of hue

Glittered a yellow fire from a sweet sunshine:

Night was over the white of a golden centre,

Clustered in the moon like an emerald fire.

It rolled toward the distant horizon, in a shade

Darted the bright fire across the polished tide

Warm from its diadem of colours past a grasp.

Beautiful as a moon with no single fire.

Yet on the terrace the lamp was some instrument

As it was whispered to the moon in musical;

But it had broken all through its own harmony,

Which welcomed the eager sound of its potency,

Expanding in some healthy gleamed uncertainty,

Changing from trembling into the old Sentiments.

Slowly the little basket peals over a mild,

As with some other fiddle she paused in alarm,

Humbly he clasped her in another minute stay,

As though she closed every letter from the start.

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