Morning scene, Aldous Huxley

MORNING SCENE

LIGHT through the latticed blind

Spans the dim intermediate space

With parallels of luminous dust

To gild a nuptial couch, where Goya’s mind

Conceived those agonising hands, that hair

Scattered, and half a sunlit bosom bare,

And, imminently above them, a red face

Fixed in the imbecile earnestness of lust.

The end