The Winged Beetle

225 EPILOGUE TO “ PETITS POEMES EN PROSE ” MINE heart at ease, I climbed the promontory Whence one may contemplate the town out-spread : Hospital, brothel, jail, hell, purgatory, Where each thing monstrous rears its prospered head ! Well know’st Thou, Satan (ease this woe of mine !) I went not thither futile tears to shed ; But, an old lecher with’s old concubine, To madden sense on the enormous bitch Whose hellish charm pours youth from me like wine ! Whether thou sleep in morning’s sheets (dear witch !) Heavy, obscure, and chill ; or preen thee, vain, In evening’s veils, with gold embroidery rich, Infamous Capital, I love thee ! Drain Whose thieves and whores give me to ease life’s itch Pleasures inscrutable to the profane !