Patiently, Morning, the priestess
Drones out a psalm for the souls that we damned in the blackness,
Gashed with the daggers of street-lights,
Crushing the poisonous berries of sinister kisses,—
Morning with healing and kindness
Folds up the dresses dishevelled with terror and laughter,
Sweeps up the rags of our shadows
That danced in a red smoke of dreams on the walls of oblivion.
1919