Hold up thy head and crush
Thy heart's despair;
From thy wan temples brush
The tear-wet hair.
Look on me thus as I
Gaze upon thee;
Nor question how nor why
Such things can be.
Thou thought'st it love!— poor fool!
That which was lust!
Which made thee, beautiful,
Vile as the dust!
Thy flesh I craved, thy face!—
Love shrinks at this —
Now on thy lips to place
One farewell kiss!—
Weep not, but die!—‘ tis given —
And so — farewell!—
Die!— that which makes death heaven,
Makes life a hell.