EPILOGUE 
  
Serene of heart I reached the mountain top 
and well 
From there could watch the city in her mag-
nitude, 
Her brothels, pest-house, prison, purgatory, 
hell, 
  
Where like a flower flourishes all vicious 
brood. 
You well know, Satan, fount of soul-
devouring harms, 
I went not there to shed vain tears in dolor-
ous mood, 
  
But, like a shrewd old lecher in his woman’s 
arms, 
To drink deep of the lures of this lewd be-
hemoth, 
Who keeps my youth aflame with necro-
mantic charms. 
  
Whether past noon you’re still in bed, asth-
matic, wroth 
And torpid, or quitting the dim haunt you 
inhabit, 
You prance in trailing veils of evening’s 
gold-spun cloth,