(1821–1867)
Possessed
The sun is in mourning. Be like the sun,
moon of my life, swathe yourself in crepe,
sleep, smoke, whatever—be still or glum,
plummet to the depths of boredom’s pit—
I love you there. But if now your whim—
like the moon leaving her eclipse behind—
is to strut in the places where Folly throngs,
so be it! Lovely dagger, leave your sheath!
Light your eyes in the gaslamps’ glow,
light others’ with their lust for you . . .
Anything goes: sullen or submissive,
be what you will, black night, red dawn—
each nerve of my trembling body cries:
‘Dear Demon, with this I thee worship!’
§
(translated by Richard Howard)