“Dost thou give me a golden promise of pleasure apart from pain? Of a life that is always happy, of a rose-bed that none may gain, Save we two being together, alone in a world of our own? Take me, ‘my sacrifice,’ take me, to the Loom and the flaxen Zone.” She lifted me into her bosom, caressing my hair the while, And over her lips of crimson there played a terrible smile “Yourself for the coming bridal, myself I will comely deck,” And she fastened her teeth white and gleaming deep into the vein of my neck. And I dreamed as ye dream with Morphia Just a floating, fainting away; A dream that is bought from Morphia And Death is the price ye pay.
But horrid terror seized upon my heart Bidding me fight. So vainly struggling in unequal part I fought for right. Seeking by blows my ebbing life to save, On through the night; Fighting the fiend, who thirsting, tightly clave; —A ghastly sight— Teeth deep embedded, drinking from my vein; Till morning light Greeted by crowing cockerel, smiling came; Then gripping tight, I seized her gulping throat in clenching hands. With all my might, Thumbs fixed like iron bands. Panting I crushed her skull, Kneeling upon her breast. Then with a vicious pull I tore out her pulsing throat, Leaving the quivering rest, Eyes stagnant glazed and dull Wrapped, morient in my coat.
Sweating and breathless, blindly I sought for water; Prone to the floor I fell stumbling thwart Zamiel’s daughter. Blood, from my aching wound, dripped to the floor; Faint in a numbing swound I lay in my gore. Then gentle hands poured cooling draught betwixt my parchéd lips Forcing the elixir of life back in thirsty sips And bending o’er my tumbled couch my azure pale Princess Left on the Vampire’s burning wounds her cooling lips’ impress.
O Bridget! whose white skin is like to petals of the gladiola flower, Remember this, that from that destined hour When thou was christened, thou was named “POWER.” Power thou hast—and that a wonderous awful gift— Under whose diction thou can’st sink or lift Souls, spirits, hearts, from mirky cleft and rift To higher ways. But also thou can’st drive Creatures so deep, that few can ever dive Down to the depths and bring them up alive, Power thy sister e’er will be through life. “POWER” will rise victorious from every worldly strife. Power is “POWER’S” heritage, manifest and rife, Beware of Power—two edged—a double-bladed knife. Dreams and haunting visions by thy name alone I oft-times have conquered; trusting in thee I’ve gone Through perils gaunt and numerous ground on Passion’s stone. Bridget, although it ere may be thy mission To play at games with Power’s mate—Ambition— See! hidden at her back stands Sinuous Sedition! Loving perhaps too much thy tenderer, truer side I to my inward passion have at length complied, Lest in the smothering of it, I to myself had lied. Crudely and roughly shaken from Euterpe’s sieve These frail halting stanzas now to thy care I give, Feeling that every letter by thee wast made to live. Scorn not then this limping, poor, procession Of rhythmic lines; nor treat with proud aggression These faulty verses; waiting at thy session For tempered judgment; merciful then be Ever with kindness keeping within thy memory, That every written sentiment, is a living part of me.