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"With cooing laughter she shall press the monster to her golden teats,
Feed its desire on all her sweets with many a masterful caress.

"Its wisdom shall invigorate her soul to heights of hideous joy
To match her with the equal boy that shall be master of her fate.

"She shall attain a man to excel her strong satanic womanhood:
Their love shall break the mask of wood, reveal the authentic face of Hell."

All this the craftsman heard with pride: he called: his sickness and his whore
Together at his vitals tore, and rent him that he laughed and died.

So, with the last convulsive shred of spending life, his fingers fold
So subtly on that face of gold that its peace is perfected.

And there it hangs, a thought obscene, to haunt our love with damnéd ghosts—
Hark to their execrable hosts exulting as I kiss Katrine!

It conquers? We will show it things memorial of its splendours gone,
Things grosser than it looked upon where Neva rolls or Tiber swings.

We shall exceed: its lips unclean shall answer at the Judgment Day:
"The greatest of them all, I say, were this my poet and his queen!"

Ah, God! we look upon the Thames; the Arno's palaces are gone.
Dull glows the misty horizon with London's stinking stratagems.

But lift the lid of earth and see the good flame gush and wrap us round!
For us, the Gods of the Profound, may England equal Italy.

And I who revelled with Faustine in Rome make madder music here
Who poise upon my bleeding spear the severed kisses of Katrine.