You who like a dagger ploughed
into my heart, with deadly thrill
You, who stronger than a skald
Of demons, mad and dressed to kill,

Of my dejected soul you have made
You bed, your lodging and domain:
To whom i am linked, and dead,
As a convict is to his chain,

Or as the gamemaster to his dice,
Or as the mudder to his link,
Or as the carrion to its lice,
I curse you. My curse is a mere wink.

I have besought the sudden blade
To win for me my freedom back.
Perfidious poison i have prayerd
To help my cowardice. Alas...

Both poison and the sword disdained
My cowardice, and seemed to say
'you are not fit to be chained:
From your damned servitude. Away,

You imbecile! since from its empire
We were to liberate the slave,
You'd raise the carrion of your vampire,
by your own kisses from the grave.'