Turn toward me your eyes brimming with azure and stars! For one of those bewitching looks, O divine balm, I will lift the veil of the more subtle pleasures And lull you to sleep in an endless dream! Hippolyta then raised her youthful head: "I am not ungrateful and I do not repent, Delphine darling; I feel restless and ill, As I do after a rich midnight feast. I feel heavy terrors pouncing on me And black battalions of scattered phantoms Who wish to lead me onto shifting roads That a bloody horizon shuts in on all sides.
Is there something strange in what we have done? Explain if you can my confusion and my fright: I shudder with fear when you say: 'My angel! Do not look at me that way, you, my dearest thought: The sister of my choice whom I'd love forever Even if you were an ambush prepared for me And the beginning of my perdition. Delphine, shaking her tragic mane and stamping her foot As if she were stamping on the iron Tripod, Her eyes fatal, replied in a despotic voice: "Who dares to speak of hell in the presence of love?
May he be cursed forever, that idle dreamer, The first one who in his stupidity Entranced by a sterile, insoluble problem, Wished to mix honesty with what belongs to love! He who would unite in a mystic harmony Coolness with warmth and the night with the day Will never warm his palsied flesh With that red sun whose name is love! Go if you wish and find a stupid sweetheart, run To offer your virgin heart to his cruel kisses; Full of remorse and horror, and livid, You will bring back to me your stigmatized breasts Woman here below can serve only one master!
Burning like a volcano and deep as the void! Nothing will satiate that wailing monster Nor cool the thirst of the Eumenides Who with torch in hand burn his very blood. Let our drawn curtains separate us from the world And let lassitude bring to us repose! I want to bury my head in your deep bosom And find in your breast the cool of the tomb! Plunge to the bottom of the abyss where all crime Whipped by a wind that comes not from heaven,. Boil pell-mell with the sound of a tempest. Mad shades, run to the goal of your desires; You will never be able to sate your passion And your punishment will be born of your pleasures.
Never will a cool ray light your caverns; Through the chinks in the walls feverish miasmas Filter through, burst into flame like lanterns And permeate your bodies with frightful odors. The bleak sterility of your pleasures Increases your thirst and makes your skin taut And the raging wind of carnal desire Makes your flesh snap like an old flag. Damned, wandering, far from living people, Roam like the wolves across the desert waste; Fulfill your destinies, dissolute souls, And flee the infinite you carry in your hearts!
Over deep cushions, drenched with drowsy scents Where fading lamplight shed its dying glow, Hippolyta recalls and half-repents The kisses that first thawed her youthful snow. She sought, with tempest-troubled gaze, the skies Of her first innocence, now far away, As travellers who backward turn their eyes To blue horizons passed at break of day.
Within her haggard eyes the tears were bright. Her broken look, her dazed, voluptuous air, Her vanquished arms like weapons shed in Right, Enhanced her fragile beauty with despair. Stretched at her feet Delphine contented lay And watched with burning eyeballs from beneath Like a fierce tigress who, to guard her prey, Has set a mark upon it with her teeth. Strong beauty there to fragile beauty kneeling, Superb, she seemed to sniff the heady wine Of triumph: and stretched out to her, appealing For the reward of raptures half-divine.
She sought within her victim's pallid eye Dumb hymns that pleasure sings without a choir, And gratitude that, like a long-drawn sigh, Swells from the eyelid, swooning with fire. Do you not know the folly that exposes To the fierce pillage of the brawling gust The sacred holocaust of early roses? My kisses are as light as fairy midges That on calm evenings skim the crystal lake.
Those of your man would plough such ruts and ridge As lumbering carts or tearing coulters make. They'll tramp across you, like a ruthless team Of buffaloes or horses, yoked in lust. Dear sister, turn your face to me, my dream, My soul, my all, my twin, to whom I trust! Turn me your eyes of deepest, starry blue.
For one of those deep glances that you send, I'd lift the veil of darkest joys for you And rock you in a dream that has no end. But then Hippolyta raised up her head, "No blame nor base ingratitude I feel, But, as it were, a kind of nauseous dread After some terrible, nocturnal meal. I feel a swooping terror that explodes In legions of black ghosts towards me speeding Who crowd me on to swiftly moving roads, That, sliced by sheer horizons, end up bleeding. Have we done something monstrous that I tremble? Explain, then, if you can; for when you say, 'Angel', I cower.
Yet I cannot dissemble That, when you speak, my lips are drawn your way. Oh, do not fix me with a stare so steady You whom I love till death in still submission, Yes, even though you, like an ambush ready, Are the beginning of my own perdition. Then Delphine stamped and shook her tragic mane, And, like a priestess, foaming and fierce, and fell, Spoke in a lordly and prophetic strain — "Who dares, in front of Love, to mention Hell? Curbed forever be that useless dreamer Who first imagined, in his brutish mind, Of sheer futility the fatuous schemer, Honour with Love could ever be combined.
He who in mystic union would enmesh Shadow with warmth, and daytime with the night, Will never warm his paralytic flesh At the red sun of amorous delight. Go, if you wish, and seek some boorish lover: Offer your virgin heart to his crude hold, Full of remorse and horror you'll recover, And bring me your scarred breast to be consoled Down here, a soul can only serve one master.
Dima Zales. Que suis-je? Emma M. Sex Addict teaser. Erin Graham.
Sex Addict, Erin Graham, premiers chapitres du roman. Lucy Allen. Apprends-moi tout — 3 histoires sexy. Liv Stone.
Sexy Mistake — 1. Jenny et Blaine. Estime que ce sera mon cadeau de mariage. Louise et Marco teaser. Anne Cantore. Kim Richardson. Tout le monde a tort.
Apprends-moi 1: My Stepbrother. Le sexe? Je noue ma serviette comme je peux et me plante au milieu de la chambre. Le type se retourne lentement. Livres palpitants.
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