Too Much To Be True

Too much, too much Too much, perhaps - The barren beauty of the steppes, The fire lacing through the skies Before the night draws down And her jewels ignite through her Eternal locks - As do the sparks within your hair, My Love, Alight within the scattered ash of magic years, They tell their tales into the dark As we lay down to dreaming-time; Too much, perhaps For such an one as I. Too much, too much Perhaps too much The thunders of the sea The silence in the snow The way the years steal past, Ghost hands upon our shoulders - As rests your voice upon my heart, My Love, When you speak to me of memories We built of stone or straw together Too much, perhaps, Too much, too much. Perhaps too much Too much, too much The Tiaga's green magnificence, The jungle's deep malevolence And starlight shine on deep still lakes Which no craft of Man has ever touched - As shine your eyes, My Love, When you smile at me at day's end, Bright with subtlety and secrets Warm with dreams and desire Too much, perhaps For it not to steal my breath. Too much, too much Too much, perhaps The furious strength of Spring, The wolves' howls of the Winter The way life chases life And harries it ever onward - As burns the life in me, My Love Fanned to flame by you; Against the crowding dark it leaps Its mad Defiance to the end - Too much, perhaps, Perhaps too much: Though, finally, not enough, alas. The man who brought our Frantic Age to being Once said, "Nothing is too wonderful to be true." It must be so, for were it not, Fate ne'er would've sent me - You.