A dream, as clear as a graven name,

  brings to mind

  an icy tundra,

  where I saw

  in the pallid sky

  a crystal in

  place of the sun.

  Before my gaze a prism stands,

  athwart the empty air,

  As on a threshold of

  the frigid lands

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  A frozen sun

  forevermore the same.

  In that prism, light bends,

  the world refracts,

  perspective twists

  and turns.

  Those who gaze into it

  see neither the future

  nor the past, but only

  their bitter wills,

  broken

  and twisted by time.