say which were best.
61
The liquid flame ran wild within
And each was happy in his sin,
Unconscious of the outward shame,
Sealed from regret, remorse, or blame—
Sealed from all passion which might stir,
Or sting, each sense-bound worshipper.
The false enchantress! she knows well
That if the joy were bitter sweet,
That if the guilt were not complete,
A moment's suffering breaks the spell!
And thus she guards their trancèd sleep
With opiates strange, luxurious, deep,
And, nerveless, pulseless they remain,
Hugging their sweet enthralling chain—
The soothèd senses wildly blest,
The lullèd conscience charmed to rest
Borne adown the siren stream,
Life, one long voluptuous dream!
And each was happy in his sin,
Unconscious of the outward shame,
Sealed from regret, remorse, or blame—
Sealed from all passion which might stir,
Or sting, each sense-bound worshipper.
The false enchantress! she knows well
That if the joy were bitter sweet,
That if the guilt were not complete,
A moment's suffering breaks the spell!
And thus she guards their trancèd sleep
With opiates strange, luxurious, deep,
And, nerveless, pulseless they remain,
Hugging their sweet enthralling chain—
The soothèd senses wildly blest,
The lullèd conscience charmed to rest
Borne adown the siren stream,
Life, one long voluptuous dream!
And this is sin? then what is error?
Oh, the anguish! oh, the terror!
Of the well-deserved blame
Of the soul's unquiet shame—
The retribution which must come
As we face the self-wrought doom;
Oh, the anguish! oh, the terror!
Of the well-deserved blame
Of the soul's unquiet shame—
The retribution which must come
As we face the self-wrought doom;
