The holy rosary, skull by skull,
Polished and grim and beautiful!
This jewelled shape of gold and bronze
Is seated on my bosom’s throne ;
She takes my muséd orisons
To her, to her, to her alone.
O Kali, Kali, Kali, quell
This hooded hate, O Queen of Hell!
Her ruby-studded brow is calm;
Her eyes shine like some sleepy flood ;
Her breast is oliban and balm;
Her tongue lolls out, a-dripping blood ;
She swings my body to and fro;
She breaks me on the wheel of woe!
To her eternal rapture seems
Mere nature; underneath the crown
Of dusky emeralds there streams
A river of bliss to sluice me down
With blood and tears, to drown my thought,
To bring my being into naught.
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