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.