(Low too for cunning, like enough!) your lips,
A scarlet splash of murder. From them drips
This heart’s blood; you have fed your fill on me.
I am exhaust, a pale, wan phantom floating
Aimless in air, than which I am thinner. You
I see, more brilliant, of that sanguine hue
(If anything be true that I can see).
Full fed; you smile, a smile obscenely gloating
On the voluptuous wreck your lust hath wrought.
See the loose languor of precipitate thought
These versicles exhale! How rude the rime!
There is no melody; the tune and time
Are broken. Thirteen centuries ago
They would have said, ‘‘ Alas! the youth! We
know ,
This devil hath from him plucked the immortal
soul,”
7 say: you have dulled my centres of control!
v.
If you were with me, I were blind to this:
Ready to drain my arteries for your kiss,
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