Having touched that skies were gold
Having touched that wanton winds carried knives
Having touched that wandering eyes were sweet
And having touched the bitter taste of each smile
Having touched the brindled blossoms
That speared the wings of each firefly
Having touched the gateways leading nowhere
And having touched vicarious verse which defies
Having touched the meadowy slips of dew
Having touched the chaste hungers of bereft
Having touched the springs that kept murmuring
In adoration of cool waters of the mountain clefts