Turned I away upon yon Harlot nude,
Chasteless and brazen, touching my coarser sense
Distastefully; not wholly impotent.
In visionary mood
Hung I, swoll’n on the flow of eloquence
To thought on thought. Nor less did ravishment,
Exhaling music on its wing, uplift my soul,
Gazing upon that beauteous Eminence.
Enthralled so was I held. Then as my trance
Bated awhile, I searched my tongue’s control.