FOR me the most foul demon still doth plot; About me like the imponderable air He flows. I drink him, and straightway am hot With shameful lusts the tongue may not declare. And since he knows how I love form, he wins My soul in woman's guise, or else he'll tell Some pious tale of washing out my sins To tempt me to a draught that's brewed in Hell. He leads me far away from God's clear eyes, Halt and most sore still am I onward lured To endless plains of speechless miseries, Whereon unto my weary eyes and blurred He shows red scars, foul raiment, and the shape Of gory Ruin with her wounds a-gape. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIXTEEN DEAD MEN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SCHOOLBOYS IN WINTER by JOHN CLARE HER LIKENESS by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK THE MAN HE KILLED by THOMAS HARDY THE SLAVE MOTHER by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER TIME TO BE WISE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS (THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON) by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |