Too Much To Be True
Too much, too much
Too much, perhaps -
The barren beauty of the steppes,
The fire lacing through the skies
Before the night draws down
And her jewels ignite through her Eternal locks
- As do the sparks within your hair, My Love,
Alight within the scattered ash of magic years,
They tell their tales into the dark
As we lay down to dreaming-time;
Too much, perhaps
For such an one as I.
Too much, too much
Perhaps too much
The thunders of the sea
The silence in the snow
The way the years steal past,
Ghost hands upon our shoulders
- As rests your voice upon my heart, My Love,
When you speak to me of memories
We built of stone or straw together
Too much, perhaps,
Too much, too much.
Perhaps too much
Too much, too much
The Tiaga's green magnificence,
The jungle's deep malevolence
And starlight shine on deep still lakes
Which no craft of Man has ever touched
- As shine your eyes, My Love,
When you smile at me at day's end,
Bright with subtlety and secrets
Warm with dreams and desire
Too much, perhaps
For it not to steal my breath.
Too much, too much
Too much, perhaps
The furious strength of Spring,
The wolves' howls of the Winter
The way life chases life
And harries it ever onward
- As burns the life in me, My Love
Fanned to flame by you;
Against the crowding dark it leaps
Its mad Defiance to the end -
Too much, perhaps,
Perhaps too much:
Though, finally, not enough, alas.
The man who brought our Frantic Age to being
Once said, "Nothing is too wonderful to be true."
It must be so, for were it not,
Fate ne'er would've sent me - You.
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