One summer afternoon
We strangled Love, and soon
There where my love had been,
Upon the couch, was Sin.

The face is still the same,
But an unholy flame
Gleams in her eyes that serves
To whip my angry nerves.

Upon affection's tomb
Miasmic blossoms bloom.
Whims monstrous and perverse
Those girlish lips rehearse.

Her body seems the shrine
Of some strange Messaline,
And all the lusts of men
That tortured Magdalen.

And when beside me stirs
That soft white form of hers,
A voice cries out to me:
For love's sake, set her free!
At last I understand
Who with untrembling hand
Destroy a lovely shell,
To save the soul from hell!