My soul is like this cloudy, flaming opal ring. <br />The fields of earth are in it, green and glimmering, <br />The waves of the blue sky, night's purple flower of noon, <br />The vanishing cold scintillations of the moon, <br />And the red heart that is a flame within a flame. <br />And as the opal dies, and is re-born the same, <br />And all the fire that is its life-blood seems to dart <br />Through the veined variable intricacies of its heart, <br />And ever wandering ever wanders back again, <br />So must my swift soul constant to itself remain. <br />Opal, have I not been as variable as you? <br />But, cloudy opal flaming green and red and blue, <br />Are you not ever constant in your varying, <br />Even as my soul, O captive opal of my ring?<br /><br />Arthur Symons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/opals/
