at the world’s rim
in the primal, vanished light
a hesperidean grove lies
here the fragrant, airy space
recommends itself
in all its languid, eastern deliciousness
the days are warm, long and clear
the nights coy and serene
a cobweb of allusions and allegories
and sighing sunkist canopies
lies upon this dancing veil
as if woven through and through with gold thread
in the strange expansion of all things infinite
men are drunk on oblique shadows
and inflamed by an orchestra eternal
whose distant echoes can be heard along the river oblivion
the current
and counter-current
like a sea of a thousand tiny amber lights
floats in a sly
insidious shape
between the hill’s clefts
and rises like a vapor
curving and eddying
through the celestial, aerial calm
the pearly light
and luminous pallor of the dream flowers
with shoots of brightness running through its masses
sets off phosphorescent sparks
that can be seen shifting through the celandine
serpentined around them
in the tenebrosity of shade
and the garden of beauty
is the baronial throne
furnished with consecrated sacraments
and depraved delights
half-opened lips warm with rich perfume
and refreshing darkness
an invisible hand draws heavy draperies upon the depths of the air
and deep divans luxurious lie below
the mad opaline moon rises swiftly into space
the abyss sublime
the dream nocturnal
the mystic chains of angels and devils
crown the heavy tresses of those
in this sacred room
and lair infernal