"But, even though he be from some new God,
He shall not turn us who love's ways have trod,
Nor make us break love's vow.
Nay, rather, if a single beauty dwells
In me, if in that beauty there be spells
To win my will of any man—O thou,
King Herod, hear me now!—
"Let it be for his ruin! Ah, let me,
With all in me thou countest fair to see,
Procure this and no more!
If yet, with tender prevalence, my voice
May ask a thing of thee—this is my choice,
Though thou wouldst buy my sweets with all thy store—
This all I sell them for.
"Yea, are there lures of softness in my eyes?
My eyes are—for his death. Is my heart's prize
A seeming fair reward?
My virgin heart is—for his blood here shed;
Its passion—for the falling of his head;
And on that man my kiss shall be outpoured
Who slays him with the sword!"
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