104 
VICTORY 
 
And thus from foe to foe betrayed, 
No pain or pleasure but we knew 
Its utterest essence, whence we made 
All agonies, that God has paid 
 
With rotting blood, save one, that few 
Could dream of, so divine it is, 
So exquisite, so rich to do, 
The which to-night we meet unto— 
 
To consummate the angry bliss 
Of all excesses of delight ; 
The pain of this divine disease, 
The luxury of the obscene kiss, 
 
The carnal anguish, and the sight 
Of sore bloody breasts and thighs, 
The bright green river foamed with white, 
The horrid spasms of the night. 
 
Long have we lusted on this wise ; 
Now one delight, the last is left— 
Come, I will lick thine haggard eyes, 
And wallow on thee straddle-wise.