You'd take to bed the whole world as your prize,
you slut of sluts, by boredom brutalized!
To exercise your jaws at this rare sport
each day you must be served a fresh-killed heart.
Lit up like shop-windows in vulgar blaze
or street-lamps glaring on public holidays,
your insolent eyes with borrowed power burn.
Their beauty's proper law they never learn.

Oh blind and deaf machine, rich in torment-
drinker of the world's blood, wholesome instrument,
how can you not feel shame, how can you not
blanch at each mirror from which your charms look out?
This hideous wrong in which you feel secure,
has it not made you shrink one step in fear,-
that nature, strong in her concealed designs,
makes use of you, oh woman, queen of sins
Vile animal! to mould a genius?

Oh foul magnificence - sublime disgrace!