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Arthur Symons - To Iris
Work rating: Low

Lucrezia Borgia’s evil face, 
Framed by her orange sunset hair, 
Shows in each trace of Its grimace, 
Blood-red, the stigmata of her race. 
So when the world was wan for air, 
And God looked on, great Satan fell 
Into the depth of that abyss 
That naked lies between Heaven and Hell. 
Red sensual lips mad for the kiss 
Of Cesare when his arteries 
Burn with the heat unutterable 
Of his desires, of her desires; 
That thin pure oval of the chin, 
Those perverse eyes whose inner fires 
Are hell`s, wherein sin hides by sin, 
And have no sense of aught therein 
Save what one hears when lutes and lyres 
Sound together in a scented room, 
A room in the Vatican in Rome; 
Strange eyes that shed such strange perfume 
As when some girl returning home 
Shakes off her perfume, to resume 
Her other self. O poisonous fume 
Of earth`s hell in this flower whereon 
Each separate petal`s poisonous 
As weeds that suck the blood from one, 
As vampires that abhor the sun. 
O God`s weed, made more glorious 
In paint, than weeds, this paint of John!
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