The great and mighty god, Desire,
Strikes all who do not bow down
With purple coruscating fire
From his blood-red ruby crown.
Those who bow instead of fly
Whatever might have been their reason
Kiss the ground and on it lie
'Til he chooses them in season
And then he raises them by hand
(Hands of pure electric charge)
And gives them his stern command:
Want, and to it wide and large.
But the least felicity
Comes to those he does not see.
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