MORS JANUA AMORIS 8 3
On our foreheads, paler, whiter
Than the snowiest violet.
So I forge the chains of fire
Round our single-souled desire.
Heaven and Hell we reck not of,
Being infinite in love.
Come, my demon-spouse, to fashion
The fluidic marriage-bed!
Let the starry billows splash on
Both our bodies, let them shed
Dewfall, as the streams Thalassian
On Selene’s fallen head !
Let us mingle magic passion,
Interpenetrating, dead,
Deathless, O my dead sweet maiden!
Lifeless, in the secret Aidenn !
Let our bodies meet and mix
On the spirit’s crucifix!