CHORUS

Let the Priests of the Raven of dawn no longer, in

deadly black, with hoarse note curse the sons of joy! Nor

his accepted brethren--whom, tyrant, he calls free--lay

the bound or build the roof! Nor pale Religion's lechery

call that virginity that wishes but acts not!

For everything that lives is holy!

English Poets of the Eighteenth Century · 第 306 / 322 题