Your body had become your soul....
Thaïs,—do spirits crumble whole?
FOUR NOCTURNES
I
PROCESSIONS
WITHIN the long black avenues of Night
Go pageants of delight,
With masks of glass the night has stained with wine,
Hair lifted like a vine;—
And all the coloured curtains of the air
Were fluttered. Passing there,
The sounds seemed warring suns; and music flowed
As blood; the mask’d lamps showed
Tall houses light had gilded like despair:
Black windows, gaping there.
Through all the rainbow spaces of our laughter
Those pageants followed after;
The negress Night, within her house of glass
Watched the processions pass.