Upon his couch the Veiled Mokanna lay,
While lamps around—not such as lend their ray,
Glimmering and cold, to those who nightly pray
In holy Koom, or Mecca’s dim arcades,—
But brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids
Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow
Upon his mystic Veil’s white glittering flow.
Without Contraries is no progression.   —William Blake (1793)