O those lilies of the night,
Bloom-piercing through the dark,
Why, that is satin's severed sheen
Upon such shoulders and such arms.
They bring to riot and to joust
Marble shaped in flowing white,
To sight and touch as living flame
That speaks in ancient tongues.
And that marvel's molten wax
Lands its sting and casts its charm
With its polished, bruising brush.
In those shoulders, those bared arms,
Love and night discover their lamp,
Like a rhyme that gives shape to sound.
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