Liv:
«O soft embalmer of ye still midnight,
Allow me thee to adown,
Of any sort thou fancieth(st);
Each holdeth its own fancy, I say —
Yet the pleasure we partake in
Was caus'd by the fang'd grin,
Save!, do I for him anger hold?:
Nay — I knew I was fey!»
Raymond:
«Had I what it taketh, I would do;
I sense — I cannot sense,
I am — yet! I am not —
Once I kiss'd the image
Of the Seven Angels of Death…»
Liv:
«Yet as thou so didst,
On my lips a kiss landéd,
And with the shadows blendéd
The tendermost silken mourn;
In which the light hidden is —
Yon Hell's brazen doors
Wrothfully it trieth to push.»
Raymond:
«Then, lo! the Bleak Death,
Serpent-like 'twixt the breasts crept:
Hush'd with a gasp of life's breath,
Together red tears they wept,
And pass'd the procession of dancers dead —
As in darkness were we lock'd in wed.»
Liv:
«Hush'd with a gasp of life's breath,
Together red tears we wept — in vain,
And pass'd the procession of dancers dead —
As in darkness were we lock'd in wed:
I kiss'd the Seven Angels of Death.»
Raymond:
«And Hell open'd its doors,
Yet what was 'fore my eyes
But if not the brightest light.»
Liv:
«Yet what was 'fore my eyes
But if not the brightest light.»