The viel of Satan looms
over gritty, ugly fumes,
the vapors of the malicious,
neath the canopy ever vicious.
The painting, in sacred intensity,
does dispell eccentric sensitivity,
as the allure cannot a horror bear;
what but charm does the vision wear?
Jovially does the beholder
of the falsity fall so,
unwitting of the kindling
of for him eternal woe,
as while the seeping starlight
does bend the lines of reason,
beneath the singing sight
is a triumphant treason.
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