“ ’TIS PITY—” 
—FORD. 
 
BLOW on the flame ! 
The charcoal’s vaporous fume 
Shall hide our shame ! 
Come, love, within the gloom ! 
For one last night, sweet sister, be the same ; 
Come, nestle with me in sweet Death’s hot womb ! 
 
Two sunny eyes ! 
And this is all my ruin ! 
Two gleaming thighs ! 
And all to my undoing ! 
Far-swelling curves in ivory rapture rise 
Warm and too white—bethink you of the wooing ! 
 
A kiss of fire ; 
A touch of passionate yearning 
Steals higher and higher— 
And kisses are returning ! 
The strong white grasp draws me still nigher and 
nigher, 
Our fusing forms in one fierce furnace burning ! 
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