Something random...

Prothalamium

Come, all you who are not satisfied

as ruler in a lone, wallpapered room

full of mute birds, and flowers that falsely bloom,

and closets choked with dreams that long ago died!

Come, let us sweep the old streets-- like a bride:

sweep out dead leaves with a relentless broom;

prepare for Spring, as though he were our groom

for whose light footstep eagerly we bide.

We'll sweep out shadows, where the rats long fed;

sweep out our shame-- and in its place we'll make 

a bower for love, a splendid marriage bed

fragrant with flowers aquiver for the Spring.

And when he comes, our murdered dreams shall wake;

and when he comes, all the mute birds shall sing.

-- Aaron Kramer