They ask me—thy crystalline eyes, so acute, "Odd lover—why am I to thee so dear?"
—Be sweet and keep silent, my heart, which is sear,
For all save the rude and untutored brute,
 
Is loth its infernal depths to reveal,
And its dissolute motto engraven with fire,
Oh charmer! whose arms endless slumber inspire!
I abominate passion and wit makes me ill.
 
So let us love gently. Within his retreat,
Foreboding, Love seeks for his arrows a prey,
I know all the arms of his battle array.
 
Delirium and loathing—O pale Marguerite!
Like me, art thou not an autumnal ray,
Alas my so white, my so cold Marguerite!
Sadness of the Moon-Goddess

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