Testo The Golden Wooden Tone

Throw away my food

And find a dish of stone

Perhaps I would be fuller

If I started at the bone.


Blow away the leaves

The reeds will cease to moan

For they are but fetters

Of the golden wooden tone!



I have ate the rose,

And now am served weed!
Expect the sun to treasure dust

As substitute for seed?



But which will carve my stomach least

And paint my lips the redder?

The hammered shell or the underneath?

I'm naught to know what's better!



Oh, I have ate the rose

And now am served weed

Expect the sun to treasure dust

As substitute for seed?