XXXII
The Second Sonnet of Bathrolaire
Now the sweet Dawn on brighter fields afar
Has walked among the daisies, or has breathed
The glory of the mountain winds, and sheathed
The stubborn sword of Night's last-shining star.
In Bathrolaire, when Day's old doors unbar
The motley mask, fantastically wreathed
Pass through a strong portcullis, brazen-teethed,
And enter glowing mines of cinnabar.
Stupendous prisons shut them out from day,
Gratings and caves and rayless catacombs,
And the unrelenting rack and tourniquet
Grind death in cells where jetting gaslight gloams,
And iron ladders stretching far away
Dive to the depths of those eternal Domes.
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