THE PHANTOM
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White and delicate, like white lilies,
hardly visible amongst the cloak,
the hands...the hands that do not break my chains.
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Blue and strewn with a sand of gold,
blue and golden as unclouded nights,
the eyes...the eyes that contemplate my sins.
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White the neck as the dove's snowy breast,
beard and hair like to the mane of the sun,
and like to silver the shapely foot unshod.
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Mild and sad the face, the garment blue...
Thus across the mighty lake of evil
Jesus came to my unction, as to the bark.
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And the pinnacle glittered on my spirit
its fleeting and abundant certitude,
as though with radiance of reflected light.
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So he wants to come and give me back
the faith that saves and the illusion that gladdens,
and for a flash my dark soul is aflame.
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