In The Deeps Of Beauty's Purple Clouds Poem by Mark Heathcote

Soft and temperate as the night
that gentle glowing face with eyes
that dims to me the moonlit skies
that shadowed rose of uncurling joy
that soothes the dews white honey
that makes the lotus take up wings
with nymph and angel lustrous gilt things
why it is love should age a wilting flower
a wilting flame; in damnation's name
why is it loves temperate love of ages
why is it so sweetly rancid, drawn into rages?
So sweetly web-cradled within its turbid cages.