‘ • Á¼±ÆÁ¿´¯Ä¿Å ’ O½±Á 
111 
 
 
 
‘ • Á¼±ÆÁ¿´ ¯Ä¿Å ’ O½±Á 
 
I know that winged sprite 
Who flew from heaven—was it hell ?— 
Into these bounds of light 
And music—yesternight— 
Had some new song to tell. 
 
I saw a living soul 
Flame into mortal dress ; 
Whose glance—a fiery coal, 
Whose lips—a ruby bowl 
Whose wine was wickedness. 
 
They were strange lips, I ween, 
Whereon no kiss might be, 
And teeth were sharp therein ; 
Ivory and white and keen, 
Tameless as hungering sea. 
 
Strange body of my desire, 
Voluptuous, lithe, and wan ; 
For, on my eyes drawn nigher,