Accurst, detestable, 
In which I laugh with hell, 
And furies chant the knell 
Of all things clean. 
 
Ah God !  the shapes that throng ! 
Ah God !  what eyes ! 
The souls grown sharp and strong 
That my lips made their prize, 
The ruined souls, the wrecks 
Of bodies fair of flecks 
Long since, ere God did vex 
My soul with sacrifice. 
 
Pale youth and bloodless maiden 
Whose breasts have bled, 
With wrath or mercy laden, 
By love or terror led, 
Reproachful or reviling, 
Some pure and some defiling, 
Some fearful and some smiling, 
Some living and some dead. 
 
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