The stars of last night and the wind of last night Are west of the Painted Chamber and east of Cinnamon Hall. ...Though I have for my body no wings like those of the bright- coloured phoenix, Yet I feel the harmonious heart-beat of the Sacred Unicorn. Across the spring-wine, while it warms me, I prompt you how to bet Where, group by group, we are throwing dice in the light of a crimson lamp; Till the rolling of a drum, alas, calls me to my duties And I mount my horse and ride away, like a water-plant cut adrift.