Ah, hapless sex! who bear no charms:
by day she woos me, soft, exceeding fair:

Dreadful memories, how they linger,
Her — “last Poems” —

I danced for Herod, yes. My mother’s eyes
light up thy halls! ‘Tis closing day;

Mud dark above the stream the factory’s finger:
Not wholly this or that.

Once and for all, I go my chosen way:
soft hangs the opiate in the brain.

The kingdoms fall in sequence
like the waves on the shore:

What witch-like spell weaves
here its deep design.

. . . . . . .

spb: so