Its pure fingernails on high devoted to their onyx

Anxiety, at midnight, supporting a torchbearer

Many a dream of evensong burned by the Phoenix

That does not collect a cinerary amphora

On the consoles in the vacant lounge, no folded shell

Abolished trinket of sound insignificance

(Because the Master went to draw tears from the Styx

With this the only object of which Nothingness is proud)

But near to the window on the empty north, a dying

Gold, according, perhaps, to the décor

Of unicorns kicking out of the fire against a nymph

She, dead, naked in the looking-glass still

That in forgetfulness enclosed by a frame

In sparkles soon after the septet make themselves seen

04/05/08

Allegorical sonnet about himself

(1868 version)

The approving Night illuminates the onyx

Of her nails in pure crime, torchbearer

Of the Evening abolished by the evensong’s Phoenix

Whose ashes aren’t in a cinerary amphora 

On consoles, in the dark salon, no shell in folds

Unusual vessel of sound insignificance

Because the Master went to draw water from the Styx

With all his objects whose dream is honored 

And according to the window to the empty north

Harmful gold incites a brawl for its beautiful surroundings

Made by a god who believes to take a nymph 

In the darkness of the mirror, the decor

Of absence, except that in the mirror still

In sparkles the septet make themselves seen 

04/05/08