Consumer Psyche

Strike Thy wings, hush Apollo! Halt!
Let the noon creep really slow,
White, soft, calm and low,
My Angel's hurrying things, to give salt!

Let the moon's vague light,
Prowl with unhallowed slumber deep;
Keep your golden haze robbing sleep,
Push far long away the night.

Let the sunshine cling,
Lay the shadows short;
Longer should Thou court,
Before you kiss earth's sling.

Hark my words Apollo, Halt!
Till my Angel triumphs,
Gleaming from the dust with hymns,
Praising the Lord in Exalt!

Pic courtesy nethugs