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Probe my mind—there is nothing
But a choir that dare not sing
A silence that by day grows worse
And pictures of smiles I must rehearse.

Probe my mind—it is so scarred
False preachers say I am blessed
My bed is a living graveyard
Of the dreams I cannot lay to rest.

By fair devils was I sold
When I played the part of fool
When all along I was told
‘Tis the free spirit that doth rule.

Hold me fractured statue
I will hollow thy bosom through
Where leaves sway in moonlight free
Of the robin's nesting tree
Whose fruit in thy frail, pearl palm
May give my tears fair Gilead’s balm