When the morning white and rosy breaks, With the gnawing Ideal, upon the debauchee, By the power of a strange decree, Within the sotted beast an Angel wakes. The mental Heaven's inaccessible blue, For wearied mortals that still dream and mourn, Expands and sinks; towards the chasm drawn. Thus, cherished goddess, Being pure and true— Upon the rests of foolish orgy-nights Thine image, more sublime, more pink, more clear, Before my staring eyes is ever there. The sun has darkened all the candle lights; And thus thy spectre like the immortal sun, Is ever victorious—thou resplendent one!