All too true, amassed
in this lilac room, the girls:
while the pink light of Manila curls
in the athenaeum of asps.
All too true, as you lie prone,
divine, and death marauds your eyes
when the lion’s eye descries
Chaldean gold disbursed in paper cones.
Vain office, violet and icterine,
vain glimmer, the perse of wine,
here, so true it brings us fright:
All too true, the fairies, yes,
all too real the waves’ egress,
and death, so exposed beneath the light
that bowed over the paper’s bright demise
in vain I pour out paradise.