White Stains

‘ ‘ ² Åü¿Â 129 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