High chimes from the belfry;
The noonday approaches
With its golden apparel
Rustling about its feet.
High dreams of my city,
Where we, a band of brothers,
Build our proud dream of beauty
Before we fall into dust.
The golden days have come for us:
With mandolins, sword-thrusts, laughter.
Even the very dust of the street
Grows gold beneath our feet.
Bronze bell-notes poured from deep blue wells:
Molten gold out of the sky.
Pillars of yellow marble
On the summits of which the gods sleep.
Now we are swimming;
About us a great golden halo
Vibrates from us downwards,
Ebbing its life away.
Golden clouds are circling
Like angels and archangels
About the eye of the sun.
Flaming sunset:
Mad conflagrations
Licking at the earth,
The blue-black walls of space,
Iron mountains vast on the horizon.
O golden spear that dartled through the darkness!
The evening star sparkled and threw us its message.