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