Yet is that subtle fading-out of smiles
Rather the coming of a dull despair,
And not at all that keen despair, that sharp
Maddening pain that should torment a man
With deadliest delight, the self-same hour
That he unveils the Isis of desire.
These little lovers strip their maidens bare,
And find them—naked! Poor and pitiful!
Look at our love instead! I raised Thy veil,
Nay, tore Thy vesture from Thee, and behold!