She kiss’d me ill, and she kiss’d me lame, She kiss’d till my eyes were faded; My spinal marrow dried up became, By her mouth’s wild sucking pervaded. My body is now a corpse, wherein My spirit is fetter’d closely; ’Tis often angry, and makes a din, And storms and struggles morosely, O impotent curses! Not even a fly Can be kill’d by mere execrations; Submit to thy fate, and patiently try To bear Heaven’s dispensations. III. How slowly time is crawling on, That serpent terrible and creeping! While I, alas! all-motionless, On the same spot am ever weeping. On my dark cell no ray of hope Hath shone, no sunbeam e’er hath risen; For nothing but the churchyard’s vault Shall I exchange this fatal prison. Perchance I long ago did die, Perchance the phantasies which nightly Hold in my brain their shifting dance Are nought but ghostly forms unsightly. They may full well the spectres be Of some old heathen gods or devils; They gladly choose the empty skull Of a dead poet for their revels. Those orgies sweet but terrible, Those nightly ghost-acts, full of warning, The poet’s corpse-hand ofttimes seeks To place on record in the morning. IV. Once saw I many a blooming flower Upon my way, but slothfully Stoop’d not to pluck them in that hour, And on my proud steed hasten’d by. Now when I’m near to death, and languish, Now when beneath me yawns the tomb, Oft in my thought, with bitter anguish, Returns the’ unheeded flowers’ perfume. But most of all, my brain is burning With a bright yellow violet fair; Wild beauty! How I grieve with yearning, To think that I enjoy’d thee ne’er! My comfort is: Oblivion’s waters Have not yet lost their olden might The dull hearts of earth’s sons and daughters To steep in Lethe’s blissful night. V. I saw them laughing, smiling gladly,-- I saw them ruin’d utterly; I heard them weeping, dying sadly,-- And yet I utter’d not a sigh. Each corpse I as a mourner follow’d, Yea, to the churchyard follow’d I, And then--with appetite I swallow’d, My noontide meal, I’ll not deny. I now recall that band long perish’d, With feelings sadden’d and oppress’d: Like sudden glowing love once cherish’d They strangely storm within my breast. And most ’tis Juliet’s tears so burning That in my memory spring to light; My sadness turns to ceaseless yearning, I call upon her day and night. In feverish dreams, with soft emotion The faded flower oft comes again; Methinks a posthumous devotion To my love’s glow it offers then. O gentle phantom, clasp me often With strong and ever stronger power; Unto my lips press thine, and soften The bitterness of this last hour. VI.