Running round the rolled-gold lighthouse
As the world turns slightly wrong
Selling all out to the morning
I could make a baby tease
I could float on down with feathers
But I’d never get along
And a bird might fly forever
If it hadn’t any song
I see my face in the gravel
I stare where I scare the breeze
I blink at folded circuses
I never paid to see
I think in soldered circles
So break them if you please.

But I see it’s marked with a black cross
I’m too sick of it to flee
And I think I’m waiting for the night wind
To blow away the sea.