A cone of light, a softly shining glow,

Erect, alone, in dignity upright.

Some stream of flies around the source does flow,

In shelter from the deep, encroaching night.

A couple, hand in hand appear, below.

Laughing, they tumble out again, in flight

And secret joys. The wind whips up to blow

The dreamy clouds around. The moon is bright.

This man-made shine, undying whitish tone,

Doth consecrate that spot which it reveals

And in that spot the light protects and shields

Escapers from the gloom. So what is hid

Should shy from this, and hide secure indeed:

Illicit things appreciate not being shown.


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