THE COURT OF THE PROFANE. 
33 
 
 
 
 
 
 
LOT. 
 
“ And while he lingered . . . they brought him forth, and set 
him without the city.”—Gen. xix. 16. 
 
 
URN back from safety, in my love abide, 
 Whose lips are warm as when, a virgin bride 
I clung to thee ashamed and very glad, 
Whose breasts are lordlier for the pain they had, 
Whose arms cleave closer than thy spouse’s own ! 
Thy spouse—O lover, kiss me, and atone ! 
All my veins burst for love, my ripe breasts beat 
And lay their bleeding blossoms at thy feet ! 
Spurn me no more !  O bid these strangers go ; 
Turn to my lips till their cup overflow ; 
Hurt me with kisses, kill me with desire, 
Consume me and destroy me with the fire 
Of bleeding passion straining at the heart, 
Touched to the core by sweetnesses that smart 
Bitten by fiery snakes, whose poisonous breath 
Swoons in the midnight, and dissolves to death ! 
Ah !  let me perish so, and not endure 
Thy falsehood who have known thy love was sure, 
Built up by sighs a palace of long years— 
Lo !  it was faery, and the spell of tears 
 
  T