“Ah, wilt thou pass me? Wilt thou let me give
Thy fair life to some meaner man to live?
Nay, here—if I am sweet—
Thou shalt not. I will save thee with the sight
Of all my sweetness, save thee with the might
And charm of all my singing lips’ deceit,
Or with my dancing feet.
“I have indeed some power. A lure lies
Within my tender lips—behind my eyes—
Concealed in all my way;
And while I seem entreating, I compel,
Yea, while I do but plead, I use a spell—
Ah secretly—but surely. Who are they
That ever turn away?
“Now, thou hast barely seen bright glittering
The gilded cup of pleasures that I swung
Before thy reeling gaze,—
The deep beginnings of sweet drunkenness
Are in thy heart already, more or less,
And on thy soul deliciously there preys
A thirst no joy allays.
“Dost thou not feel, each time my long hair sweeps
The glowing floor, how through thy being creeps
A vague yet sweet desire?—
How writhes in every sense a tiny snake
Of pleasure biting till it seems to wake
A fever of sharp lusts that never tire,
Unquenchable as fire?
“Is there not wrought a madness in thy brain
Each time my thin veils part and close again—
Each time their flying ring
Is seen a moment’s space encircling me
With filmy changes—each time, rapidly
Rolled down, their cloud-like gauzes billowing
About my limbs they fling?
“Ah, seek not in this moment some cold will;
Attend to no false pratings that would kill
Thy heart, and make thee fall:
But now a little lean to me, and fear
My charming. Ah, thy fame to me is dear!
Some wound of mine, when me thou couldst not call,
Might slay thee after all.
“For even while I sing, the unseen grace
Of Love descending hath filled all this place
With most strong prevalence;
His miracle is raging in the breasts
Of all these men, and mightily he rests
On me and thee. His power is too intense,
No curse shall drive him hence.
“—O, Love, invisible, eternal God,
In whose delicious ways all men have trod,
This day Thou truly hast
My heart: thy inspiration fills my tongue
With great angelic madness; I have sung
Set words that in my bosom thou hast cast—
Thine am I to the last!
“My feet are like two liquid flames that leap
For joy at thee; I feel thy spirit sweep—
Yea, like a southern wind—
Through all the enchanted fibres of my soul;
I am a harp o’er which thy vast breaths roll,
And one day thou shalt break me: none shall find
A wreck of me behind.
“And now all palpitating, O I pray
Thy utmost passion while I cry—away
With all Love’s enemies!
A man—borne up between the closing wings
Of two eternities of unknown things,
May catch this seraph charmer as he flies,
And hold him till he dies;