The Sorceror To His Love

Within your arms I will forget The horror that Zimimar brings Between his vast and vampire wings From out his frozen oubliette. The terror born of ultimate space That gnaws with icy fang and fell, The sucklings of the hag of hell, Shall flee the enchantment of your face. Ah, more than all my wizard art The circle our delight has drawn: What evil phantoms thence have gone, What dreadful presences depart! Your arms are white, your arms are warm To hold me from the haunted air, And you alone are firm and fair Amid the darkly whirling storm.