There's A Black Rose Growing In Your

I Will Be Free, No Lover's Kiss To Bind Me To Earth, No Bliss Of Love To Counteract Actual Bliss.

O Ruthless, Perilous, Imperious Hate, You Can Not Thwart The Promptings Of My Soul.

Maid Of The Luminous Grey-eyes, Mistress Of Honey And Marble Implacable White Thighs And Goddess, Chaste Daughter Of Zeus.

Remember The Golden Apple-trees; O, Do Not Pity Them, As You Watch Them Drop One By One, For They Fall Exhausted, Numb, Blind But In Certain Ecstasy, For Theirs Is The Hunger For Paradise.

In My Garden The Winds Have Beaten The Ripe Lilies; In My Garden, The Salt Has Wilted The First Flakes Of Young Narcissus.