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While thy lewd minions covered with a pall 
Our prostrate bodies, and with musical 
Loud voices raised the chant of funeral, 
Turned to fierce blasphemies, and words obscene. 
Nine hours we lay as dead, and then my queen 
Writhed in my arms again, and blood leapt up 
To our fresh kisses to fill full the cup 
Of horror to the brim.  Again as dead 
Were we borne forth, and then—Can I forget ? 
I gripped thy glossy throat.  My fingers met 
Crushing through the skin and muscle, nerve and vein, 
And in that supreme agony of pain 
I drained myself of lust !  That final clasp 
Was consummated in thy dying gasp ! 
The frightful struggle ended ;  I leapt high, 
Caught sword, bared breast, and hurled myself to die, 
But thy mad slaves attacked me.  These I slew 
—So I half guess—the next thing my soul knew, 
I was alone and naked in my bed. 
The sword, snapped, on the floor, with hateful red 
Blotches of blood, and clots of bloody hair 
On its infernal steel.  And unaware 
Of thy last gift I slept.  I have it now, 
Thy gift from Hell’s door !  Would to God somehow