Classic Poem

In El Dorado's forests, it is said,
There dwells a monstrous man-devouring flower,
Worshipped as a divinity; each hour,
From dawn to dusk, with some new victim fed.

Her beauty lures the wretch; her petals spread
Strange drowsy scents; sleep grasps him in its power;
Till iron tendrils, creeping nearer, lower,
Draw him, fast bound, as to a nuptial bed.

Even such art thou. Pale beauty, dost thou think
I know it not, or that I quail beneath
Thy baleful shade, and from thy kisses shrink?

I caught the fatal incense of thy breath,
And let my head in glorious freedom sink
On thy dread breast, thou worshipped flower of death.