Enough of the virgins¹ and lilies, of passionate²,
        suffocating³ perfume of corruption⁴,
     no more narcissus perfume, lily harlots, the blades
        of sensation
     piercing the flesh to blossom of death.
     Have done, have done with this shuddering⁵,
        delicious business
     of thrilling ruin in the flesh, of pungent⁶ passion,
        of rare, death-edged ecstasy⁷.
     Give us our turn, give us a chance, let our hour
        strike,
     O soon, soon!
 
     Let the darkness turn violet with rich dawn.
     Let the darkness be warmed, warmed through to a
        ruddy violet,
     incipient purpling towards summer in the world
        of the heart of man.
 
     Are the violets already here!
     Show me! I tremble so much to hear it, that even
        now
     on the threshold of s............