There I had a tower for the skies,
where the rooms were clear,
and the music filled the walls.
The light clothed the halls,
and the days were long.
The nights were song.

Should I recall the Rational Stars?
Or hold my ruin on this hill
where new-raised walls are still,
Perfect granite set jagged on the dawn,
with striped awnings spread across the lawn.
Then, gold was known as gold,
and long slow stories could be told.
White flowers filled the darkest room,
flowers that never lost their bloom.

Should I recall the Rational Stars?
And should I raise anew
old chaos-towers in the darkest wood,
leaving nothing where the forest stood,
turning the dark of days to sunlit pride,
to see frail windows throw the rainbows wide,
with passages and courts in bloom
and white flowers in the darkest room?

Should I recall the Rational Stars?
I had a tower once, across the heavens from here,
with alabaster edges and silver domes.
Raised above the fields and homes,
it flagged my fires, flew my fear.

Oh... Take these new lake isles and green green seas;
take these sylvan ponds and soaring trees;
take these desert dunes and sunswept sands,
and pour them through your empty hands.