Light Threatens, Is Active, Is

(those Women Whom The Distaff No Longer Claims Nor Spun Cloth) Driven Made, Mad, Mad By Bacchus.

Ardent Yet Chill And Formal, How I Ache To Tempt A Chisel As A Sculptor.

Maid Of The Luminous Grey-eyes, Mistress Of Honey And Marble Implacable White Thighs And Goddess, Chaste Daughter Of Zeus.

My Eye-balls Are Glass, My Limbs Marble, My Face Fixed In Its Marble Mask.

A Slight Wind Shakes The Seed-pods My Thoughts Are Spent As The Black Seeds.