A Song Of The Degrees

I Rest me with Chinese colours, For I think the glass is evil. II The wind moves above the wheat- With a silver crashing, A thin war of metal. I have known the golden disc, I have seen it melting above me. I have known the stone-bright place, The hall of clear colours. III O glass subtly evil, O confusion of colours! O light bound and bent in, soul of the captive, Why am I warned? Why am I sent away? Why is your glitter full of curious mistrust? O glass subtle and cunning, O powdery gold! O filaments of amber, two-faced iridescence!