Boon and bale upon the verge of happening
shall prove the part
for illustrative worth, conceived
or barren, quench the huntress’ dart;
as pending fates on this resolved
for every bit of what men are
must demonstrate what love involves
or failing, burn like falling stars.
Here, the awful compass reads
that owning on a common birth
and points for limit in the needs
to contract universal worth:
a bravery in dawning hours
that wakes upon the morning light
and in the grasp of humane powers
withdraws consumption’s lusty mite.
Thus broached upon the sacred weal
falls bards’ and sages’ broken bread
for men and gods, whose freedom steals
to love, escaping from the dead.
Durandus von Meissen
(nom de plume)