She stands, stretched out in graceful strength before
reflections of her youth, her beauty, gold
becomes a dull comparison, no more
than something bought and something cheaply sold.
But this, extruded beauty, more than form
of youthful goddess dancing in her sky,
like gentle lightning, heralding a storm
of passion, like the thundering reply
of some obscure, humiliated man
who knows no better worship than his shout
which signifies his lack of any plan
but opens up his heart and lets it out
in freedom’s best impression of intent,
his passion is immediately spent.