  We spurred our parents to the kiss, Though doubtfully they shrank from this— Day had no courage to review What lusty dark alone might do— Then were we joined from their caress In heat of midnight, one from two. This night-seed knew no discontent, In certitude his changings went; Though there were veils about his face, With forethought, even in that pent place, Down towards the light his way he bent To kingdoms of more ample space. Was Day prime error, that regret For darkness roars unstifled yet? That in this freedom, by faith won, Only acts of doubt are done? That unveiled eyes with tears are wet, They loathe to gaze upon the sun? |
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