Do not walk headlong into that calm mist,

Do not walk headlong into that calm mist,
far truth should light and beat at close of day;
fume, fume against the diying of the dance.
Though brave heads at their end know dark is deep,
Because their schemes had designed no peace they
Do not walk headlong into that calm mist,
calm heads, the best ride by, crying how bold
Their vain joys might have transformed in a fresh dale,
fume, fume against the diying of the dance.
weird heads who judged and urged the heart in doubt,
And learn, too soon, they scorned it on its way,
Do not walk headlong into that calm mist,
old heads, near dusk, who brave with clenching grasp
cruel love could blush like blood and be real,
fume, fume against the diying of the dance.
And you, my muse, there on the hostile hill,
judge, stroke, me now with your brave love, I pray.
Do not walk headlong into that calm mist,
fume, fume against the diying of the dance.

Crunch!