who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?
O Beauty, frightful ghoul, ingenuous and obscure!
So long thine eyes, thy smile, to me the way can tell
Towards that Infinite I love, but never saw.
From God or Satan? Angel, Mermaid, Proserpine?
What matter if thou makest—blithe, voluptuous sprite—
With rhythms, perfumes, visions—O mine only queen!—
The universe less hideous and the hours less trite.
Then there’s these lines from ‘Heauton Timoroumenos’:
Without banisters, without light,
On the edge of a gulf of which
The odor reveals the humid depth ...
The scent of thine ardent breast I inhale,
Celestial vistas my spirit assail;
Caressed by the flames of an endless sun[.]
Hate, honor, labour hard and forced--and dread,
And like the northern sun upon its polar plane
My heart will soon be but a stone, iced and red.
that poison in my blood!
I am the sinister glass in which
the Fury sees herself!