The day was a chameleon;
In sweat and pangs the pregnant, Night
Brings forth the wondrous infant, Light;
Within the sunset-press, incarnadine,
The sun, a peasant, tramples out his wine;
You are the body-house of lust;
Where twilight-peacocks lord the place
Spendthrifts of pride and grace;
And lo, at Heaven’s blue-windowed house
God sets the moon for lamp;