O, have you ever heard the gutter's call? E'er felt the strange attraction of the sewer? Or ceded to the urge from underneath, To wallow in the mire, to plunge, to sink Into the frightful abyss of perdition? Were you e'er tempted from some siren's lips, To cull the bliss, you know, is venomous? Or did you feel the satanic desire, To soil and mutilate the sacred image Of that ideal you worshiped all your life? It is the atavistic voice that's waking, The dormant beast in you. Beware! Beware! TO ONE WHO COULD NOT LOVE I You told me that you love the water, The cascades' roaring, rushing water, The rivers' gently flowing water, The pools' mysterious silent water, The erring brooklets' whisp'ring water, The oceans' moaning, hissing water, The oceans' seething, sighing water, It's thundering, caressing water. My love for you is also as the water, The roaring, rushing, silent, whisp'ring water. The thundering, the seething, sighing water. Oh, love me, for my love is like the water, Did you not tell me that you love the water? II I've been a profligate till now, Have squandered of the treasures of my heart In reckless fashion. Henceforth my beloved, Each precious scrap of love, Each feeling, thought or passion, Is yours alone. My very life is yours. III You sometime make me dream of fair Granada, Of olden days of Moorish reign and glory; At other times you make me feel the gloom Of Christian Spain, sepulchral and morose. You are as the Alhambra when you smile, Gold-tinted, graceful, radiating joy. But when you frown or are indifferent, Then like to the Escurial you are, Depressing, full of sombreness and chill. IV