Phantom Quadrant presents:

The man was a cat, the fine thought had stayed with him for ever,

Even when he’d drunk his life away he was still not dead:

How can I ever tell what that strange vision is?

A priestess, too much weary for her holy mind,

Dancing about in a crowd of women, half seducing,

And lost in a dream of trying to woo one husband.

And as she’s dying a gorgeous and graceful dove

Starts to take her into its huge and shining body.

A black and green mist of the rich green creepers appears.

It was a face, like a vast softness of living plant,

Like one springing from the earth