The goddess-w***e whose flying, flaming hair impales my heart with every strand yields and in surrender vanquishes me. Green eyes, the drowning-pool of my soul, flash at me as, impaled upon my sword, she dies not nor yields to me any victory but steals from me my strength and crushes me with callous disregard. I yearn for freedom but she prisons me with bonds. O tighter than any straps or chains those bonds of beauty and of silk. Languishing beneath the silken winding-sheet of her ardor, not dead nor dying but removed from life am I, murdered by the stress of her regard.