And wide they sunder, wide 
They fall into the tide 
Of fallen things. 
Me, me, O meek-browed bride, 
Horrible faces hide 
And devilish wings. 
Me the grim harpies hold 
In kisses slaver-cold, 
Mute serpent-shapes of gold 
With serpent stings. 
 
 
The dreadful bridal won, 
The demon banquet done, 
My flesh let loose :— 
Rises a strange red sun, 
A sight to slay or stun ; 
Sepulchral dews 
Fall from the rayless globe, 
Whose sightless fingers probe 
My golden-folded robe, 
My soul’s misuse. 
 
 
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