He, holding a screen, in a blank state,

Knowing higher glory & grander fate,

Yet with baser pleasure does mate.

Horrible agent of habits

Wrings and cracks his slumbering art

Into a handful of floating dust.

Deeply, deeply comes a poet of mirth,

Joyous songs chanted forth,

The veil of things become as froth.

Light surges into his dusky heart,

Diminishing the fallen brazen mask,

Enlivening its dying beats, at last.