My Fabric was made by deep organ-notes

I have been quiet a long while
Through my soul wet with spirit
Though my heart whole with love
Though my passion righteous

With strange infinitude
I have not any body of royalty’s sign
I’ve grown old, weak, alone
Haloed with my mystic literature

I uncoil beauty’s parting
And the sun’s goodbye to youth
And there is no wine-flush left
No opalescent hope for prosperity

I am all that I will ever be
From becoming to indignity
My compassion has been ministered
Upon this Earth in little bursts

And that’s enough for whichever
Strange singer’s mind gave birth to me
I am the cosmos suddenly poor
Suddenly curious for a weary lifetime.