About that citadel of hell ; 
A soft lewd flavour, an obscene 
Mysterious self of Messaline. 
Or, in the kisses that swoop low 
To catch my breath and kill me so, 
I feel the ghostliness of this 
Unreal shuttle-game—the kiss ! 
Her moving body sobs above, 
And calls its lechery true love. 
Out from the flame of heart she plucks 
One flower of fiery light, and sucks 
Its essence up within her lips, 
And flings it into mine, and dips 
And bends her body, writhes and swims 
To link the velvet of our limbs, 
My drouthy passion worn and keen, 
And lusty life of Messaline. 
The heart’s blood in her boiling over 
She sucked from many a dying lover : 
The purple of her racing veins 
Leapt from some soul’s despairing pains ; 
She drinks up life as from a cup ; 
 
 
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