Altars where once the sacred fire burned—
Forms flowing back into the Formlessness;
In a supreme embrace, a long caress,
Mixing their bodies with the mother mould—
And all the heaven of stars around me rolled,
Whose brooding eyes have stared so many an age
Upon this theatre of lust and rage,
Of death and adoration. And a breeze
Rustles the branches of the poplar-trees.
Dear Spark, that shinest in the solitude!