Une Saison En Enfer - Theatres Des Vampires

What are his nets, and gins and traps;

and how does he surround me

With cold floods of abstraction, and with forests of solitude

To build him castles and high spires, where kings and priests may dwell;

Till she who burns with youth and knows no fixed lot is bound

In a spell of law to one she loathes?

And must she drag the chain

Of life in weary lust?

Must chilling, murderous thoughts obscure

The clear heaven of her eternal spring;

to bear the wintry rage

Of a harsh terror driv’n to madness, bound to hold a rod

Over her shrinking shoulders all the day, and all the night

To turn the wheel of false desire, and longings that wake her womb

To the abhorred birth of cherubs in the human form

That live a pestilence an die a meteor, and are no more;

Till the child dwell with one he hates, and do the deed he loathes

And the impure scourge forge his seed into its unripe birth

Ere yet his eyelids can behold the arrows of the day?