My dearest love: you are not so to me,
I am demonic and unaccounted for,
Whilst even hatred you have is scornful yet,
So love me and enjoy this treat,
That of her fruit may ripen at the first taste of my lips;
Daren’t allowed that even the Serpent shall frown upon it.
Nevertheless, am hollow for a while,
Towards that reproach thence she gazes,
So evil abides and of Freedom transposed thereof.
Given this, I am human still.

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Mysterious, Nocturnal, Poetry, Romance, Works
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