Midnight Canto Poem by Patrick White

Young, you weep the falling moon,
Luminous willow, beside the black river
Where I drown in your pale ghost,
Each small wave, the eyelid
Of a scattered rose, silvered by the light.

You are everything that time could steal
From me, brought back, an afterlife
I had not thought possible, a birth
Beyond the debt I owe to anyone,
These hauntings, these crucial exorcisms.

In me, wheat, honey, white gold,
Your sad summer made mystery
By night, in me, when perfect solitude
Paints your face upon its raven waters
And the watching stars discuss conspiracies

Of love that terrify the sleepless hour.
Servant of the dream that spins the world
Through the languishing ages into yesterday,
I am resurrected like the wind to comb
Your hair, and play upon your cheek,

A memory of fire, to let you know,
Though alone, I am near and now,
The music of your shining leaves,
Companion, sage, fool, or poet,
The soft, mad music of your shining leaves.