Unknown

Oh, thy lips form endless phrase,
On whom to bestow thine praise?
On what face or smile so sweet,
In what time should ye entreat?

And thus, the world is in the tow,
No love affair, nor grander show,
Could sweep thee from thine worldly feet,
And in what time should ye retreat?

The call of lonely darker child,
Formed in the heart so black and wild,
Could make thee lose thine buckled seat,
And in what time should ye entreat?

That ye should bear the withered bow,
Or of the apple truth should know?
How fine and fair the first elite,
And in what time should ye retreat?

Gone from the world in heated haze,
Dashed in blinding blow and daze,
Crawl from the ashes in the street,
This is the time for your entreat.

Raise thine lips and eyes to love,
Call out for those left up above.
The world in brightness spinning fleet,
This glow we call the grand retreat.