Oracles

44 THE BLOOD-LOTUS So in some damned abyss of woe thy chant should dazzle as of old, Thy kisses burn like molten gold, thy visions swing me to and fro. Strange fascinations whirl and wind about my spirit lying coils ; Thy charm enticeth, for the spoils of victory, all an evil mind. Thy perfume doth confound my thought, new longings echo, and I crave Doubtful liaisons with the grave and loves of Parthia for sport. I think perhaps no longer yet, but dream and lust for stranger things Than ever sucked the lips of kings, or fed the tears of Mahomet. Quaint carven vampire bats, unseen in curious hollows of the trees, Or deadlier serpents coiled at ease round carcasses of birds unclean ; All wandering changeful spectre shapes that dance in slow sweet measure round And merge themselves in the profound, nude women and distorted apes