By W. A. Luscombe
Edited by Amy Li and Alloe Mak

Your blear eyes waned in the ancient riverbed
And ripples, like birds’ feet, ran under the fields of men;
When all seemed but stillness to the unknown skies o’er head.

Then as those wanderers took to the unfamiliar streets,
And none but the shuffling winds could stir our pallid hearts,
Your blear eyes waned in the ancient riverbed.

Where once, you, moonlike in the trappings of Diana
Swayed to the forsaken music of our empires
All had seemed but stillness to the unknown skies o’er head.

And even before our eyes, we saw the ends of the afternoon, the voices quieted;
Then, when we had seen the cordial stars in the untimely hour of their leave-taking,
Your blear eyes waned in the ancient riverbed.

And men passed us, who shrunk down the ends of the avenues, in all their stoic clumsiness,
Who had tipped their caps through the age of our unripeness;
Then, when all seemed but stillness to unknown skies o’er head.

In our last parting, we were led by the clouds in noiseless wanderings
What with our noses smothered in their perfumed waters
When your blear eyes waned in the ancient riverbed,
When all seemed but stillness to the unknown skies o’er head.