93 
 
 
 
 
 
THE POET AND HIS MUSE 
 
TWO years I strove with all my store of spice 
To lure the victim to the sacrifice. 
 I tempted him with garlands and with dances, 
With every virtue and with every vice, 
 
With girls that twisted all his maiden fancies 
Into a spasm of lust ;  with necromancies 
 Wherein he knew the utmost God to be 
No more than the plain torsion of his trances. 
 
Maugre device and stratagem, I see 
How all his virgin soul revolts from me, 
 Knowing me for the ancient whore that sits 
Crowned and triumphant through eternity :   
 
Nor, though my beauty dazzled all his wits, 
Could he conceive that frailest fairy flits 
 Across the abyss of mine imagining. 
So I came back from all my snares and pits, 
 Crowned him with roses, called him lord and king. 
 
Then the poor fool fell on me, stammering 
Pale phrases of his mortal love, a thing 
 Almost too petty for my star of lust 
To attract within her orbit :  still I swing