The First Sonnet of Bathrolaire

Over the moonless land of BathrolaireRises at night, when revelry begins,A white unreal orb, a sun that spins,A sun that watches with a sullen stareThat dance spasmodic they are dancing there,Whilst drone and cry and drone of violinsHint at the sweetness of forgotten sins,Or call the devotees of shame to prayer.And all the spaces of the midnight townRing with appeal and sorrowful abuse.There some most lonely are: some try to crownMad lovers with sad boughs of formal yews,And Titan women wandering up and downLead on the pale fanatics of the muse.