The cage where he ate and slept
Was furnished with gems and flesh
So he would not bruise when he fell
Or his vision ever grow dull.

Garnets are brighter than angels,
He sang as he made his poems.
Garnets are brighter than angels,
He sang as he crushed his loins.

But how he loved the golden feathers
Which fluttered through the cage;
How he loved the golden shadows
When they covered up his face.