In the abode of passion, where
The dust is fraught with pain,
Shineth in every atom there
Pure spirit without stain.
No Magian wine from Magian boy
The revellers there take;
One glance of rapture and of joy
Each fragile glass doth break.
Let madness surge not in thee so
When thou dost stand at prayer;
Keep firm thy reason; do not go
With shredded raiment there!