Je ne cherche qu’un et je l’ai merité”
Purling this triplet to a murmuring strain
A magic mean of pleasure and of pain
Languid toward my bed she came,
And my soul was burnt with a lusting flame.
Rising I seized her serpent hand, icy as Death it lay on my palm
As she kissed my lips, the winds’ wild band played through her hair the Marids psalm.
There ’twixt her naked bosoms swayed that awful leaden sign
Bearing that occult message, that terrible fateful line,
Lo! there trembled the leaden Tablet that hung on the Brazen tomb,