VIII
You love me! trite and idle word to darken
(With all its glow) the splendour of our sun!
No soul of heaven or hell may hearken
The unbearable device that we have done.
Nor may Justine nor Borgia understand
Nor Messalina nor Maria guess
The infernal chorus swelling darkly grand
That echoed us our everlasting 'Yes!'
Nor shall the Gods perceive to damn or praise
The deed that shakes their essence into dust,
Disrupts their dreams, divides their dreary days.
Supreme, abominable, rides our lust
Armed in the panoply of brazen youth
And strength, since, if we are Hell's, Hell's worm is Truth.
(With all its glow) the splendour of our sun!
No soul of heaven or hell may hearken
The unbearable device that we have done.
Nor may Justine nor Borgia understand
Nor Messalina nor Maria guess
The infernal chorus swelling darkly grand
That echoed us our everlasting 'Yes!'
Nor shall the Gods perceive to damn or praise
The deed that shakes their essence into dust,
Disrupts their dreams, divides their dreary days.
Supreme, abominable, rides our lust
Armed in the panoply of brazen youth
And strength, since, if we are Hell's, Hell's worm is Truth.
— 10 —
