...a Winged Passion woke, and, one by one dreaming in marble all the castle lay, there fell upon the night, like angel's tears, like some gigantic ghost-flower born of night, the syllables of that mysterious prayer, blossoming in white towers to the moon, soft sighed the passionate darkness to the tune of the unearthly sweetness of a rose swam upward from the troubled heart of May.
. . . . . . . .
* All apologies to e.e. cummings [ "Of Nicolette" ]