You must not wanton with each casual maiden,
Or the succubi may clasp you very soon . . .
Your heart is prodigal when roaming lightly—
Too easily distracted by the moon.
For when a siren seated by the wayside
May dazzle with an eloquent allure,
And melts your heart with diabolic beauty:
Such perilous adventure leaves no cure.
So cease your playing with the lotus damsels,
One never knows a demon in disguise;
Her voice is low and purring like a kitten;
Erotic, wax and wane her jacinth eyes.
Beware, you fickle cavalier of fortune;
You may be lost forever in an hour.
For a creature subtly warm, perversely human,
May bleed your soul . . . silk-smiling to devour.
