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THE Black Goat passes, looking for his bitches.
It is a red, bare night! Thy last shame sinks,
And dies in a pool of enervating stinks;
And midnight sounds at the heart of obscene witches.


Desire's simoon has swept the sweating plain!...
Plunged in thy hair full of an acrid steam,
My flesh hatches thy flesh in a numbed dream,
And breeds the love which turns to hate again.


The lust of each upon the other slakes
Its fury with eyes stigmatized, unsated;
And like to stones our hearts are desiccated.


The Burning Beast has littered on our bodies;
And, as it is prescribed at dead men's wakes,
Our separate souls are praying prone where God is.