Horror of horrors—dark lady, it’s you again

Abbess of shadow and sinister sprite.

Pray show me, sweet Nelida, how to express myself:

Passion? Pure malice? Or murder by fright . . .

You have opened the dungeons where dreams slept desireless;

Vanquished my sleep of misogynist night

And a shudder sepulchral enlivens my being:

Liquescent infernoes of Gothic delight.

Elevation celestial or depths of despair—

No middle appears when beholding your visage

The firmament drops as I swing in the air.

In this fall, or this orbit, show mercy, bright maiden

Nor quench solar fires with lunar disdain.

Eclipsing at zenith, you blacken my brain.