III
A virgin with the lusts of Messaline,
A goat-soul in the body of a saint,
You writhe on me with cruel and epicene
Phrenzy and agony of acute restraint.
You ache—you burn—you dizzy me with blows—
You call me coward and eunuch, who say No.
Volcanic child! upon your masking snows
I will not raise my rod, that forth may flow
Torrents of blazing lava, that shall hiss
And roar, and ruin all the glad green world.
I like the attack of your seducing kiss,
The lashes of you love about me curled,
Better than slack delight and murmuring sigh—
Flowers by the road to sad satiety.
A goat-soul in the body of a saint,
You writhe on me with cruel and epicene
Phrenzy and agony of acute restraint.
You ache—you burn—you dizzy me with blows—
You call me coward and eunuch, who say No.
Volcanic child! upon your masking snows
I will not raise my rod, that forth may flow
Torrents of blazing lava, that shall hiss
And roar, and ruin all the glad green world.
I like the attack of your seducing kiss,
The lashes of you love about me curled,
Better than slack delight and murmuring sigh—
Flowers by the road to sad satiety.
— 69 —
