The conscience consciously supplies
A satisfactory reply
Beneath the moon
In dreams of June
The helpless, hopeless, lover sighs

And in some torrid, secret place
A horrid, meek excuse migrates
Takes over there
Subsists to dare
Implores one to commence the chase

So back again in backward ways
The skeletons of yesterdays
On ghoulish nights
Dark whims indict
While round the rose our shadows play