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Yon horrid panther snarls.  His eye inspires 
Fresh torments, to invade my soul with fires  
Too angry to assuage, and in its glass 
I see myself.  I hate myself, alas ! 
More than all these.  I cannot rid me of 
Myself, my hates, my tortures, or my love ; 
My golden-haired Greek goddess, who divines 
In me a god, who cannot read the lines 
Of anguish on my forehead, neither scent 
The poison of breast, blood, and excrement ! 
I gnash my teeth in impotent despair 
That I may never hold her heavenly hair 
Again, nor bite her lips, as once my teeth 
Met in her cheek, to cull a rosy wreath 
Of blood upon it, nor assuage the pangs 
Of love with hardy limbs, and dolorous fangs, 
And sweating body, crimsoning with gore, 
As her mad mouth devoured me.  Never more 
Though years decay !  With them my blood decays, 
My bones rot inwardly, the venomed days 
Sink shaft on shaft of agony, the years 
Bring new distortions, miseries, and fears ; 
New torture to my spirit, and forgot 
Of God, and health, and loveliness, I rot.