The Spiritual Dawn

  When the morning white and rosy breaks,
  With the gnawing Ideal, upon the debauchee,
  By the power of a strange decree,
  Within the sotted beast an Angel wakes.

  The mental Heaven's inaccessible blue,
  For wearied mortals that still dream and mourn,
  Expands and sinks; towards the chasm drawn.
  Thus, cherished goddess, Being pure and true—

  Upon the rests of foolish orgy-nights
  Thine image, more sublime, more pink, more clear,
  Before my staring eyes is ever there.

  The sun has darkened all the candle lights;
  And thus thy spectre like the immortal sun,
  Is ever victorious—thou resplendent one!