All that is stramineous,
runs in crooked, fine, veins
beneath the mantle;

All that is precious above
the vaults, of her daedal earth,
is less compared to the lustre
in her eyes when she smiles.

All that is auricomous,
gathered as ochroid dust,
by her minions, when she in
languid disgust tosses her mane;

sets worlds afire, with nonchalance….