Pour wine and dance if heart’s passion still dreams
bring kindle and hope if Dream's to thrive;
outside rain falls to deepen stone and stream
as, from a severed limb, the old Raven cries. 

Draw warmth into marrow and sing freely a tune
that, in catharsis and glee, shuts up Time
and softens the ache of memory's wound-
as, from a severed limb, the old Raven cries.

“In vain, in vain!” the falling rain portends;
Nonetheless, heedless blood burgeons to rise 
to feed a fervent flame that fathoms no end-
as, from the severed limb, the old Raven flies.