Still we hear it -- Clear, immortal, undying, -- The old sweet chant Of those that worship the sun! Pallid, perverse, diseased, The mystical rabble Gibber and twitter and weep. With a waving of leprous arms, With a beating of epicene breasts, They mutter their prayers to the night, And the moon, their odalisque. But still we hear it -- Clear, immortal, undying, -- The old sweet chant Of those that worship the sun! |