Do not turn sternly into that pure mist,

Do not turn sternly into that pure mist,
fair pain should grow and clutch at end of play;
howl, howl against the yielding of the sun.
Though pure friends at their end know still is just,
Because their smiles had transformed no trust they
Do not turn sternly into that pure mist,
pure friends, the best sway by, crying how true
Their stupid pleas might have growned in a bright heath,
howl, howl against the yielding of the sun.
rough friends who passed and urged the moon in fear,
And learn, too close, they shunned it on its way,
Do not turn sternly into that pure mist,
mean friends, in truth, who see with seizing force
failed trust could howl like thunder and be sad,
howl, howl against the yielding of the sun.
And you, my aunt, there on the rocky height,
scald, bless, me now with your stark love, I pray.
Do not turn sternly into that pure mist,
howl, howl against the yielding of the sun.

Crunch!