XXXI
The First Sonnet of Bathrolaire
Over the moonless land of Bathrolaire
Rises at night, when revelry begins,
A white unreal orb, a Sun that spins,
And watches with a faint metallic stare
The madly moving dance that they dance there,
Whilst din and drone of ghostly violins
Drown the triumphant shriek of obscene sins,
And raise the incantation of despair.
And all the spaces of that midnight Town
Sound with appeal and sorrowful abuse.
There some most lonely are: some try to crown
Mad lovers with sad boughs of formal yews,
And Titan women wandering up and down
Lead on the pale fanatics of the Muse.
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