To A Libertine

There's blood in the ink of her writing, The paper is stiffened with tears, And I with my conscience am fighting And striving to quiet it, tears. And these are the words she is saying: ' My life I no longer can bear. For death I am constantly praying, And God will soon answer my prayer.' I met her when first the faint dawning Of womanhood tinted her you'h, She then had no past, like the morning, For she was all candour and truth. She made little timid confession And asked me for leading and light To right, where was no retrogression, To cleanse what was spotless and white. She hehl me in deep vénération. She looked on me almost as God, And gave her sweet life's conservation Ol love to the vilest that trod. I taught her that love was the duty And life of the angels ol light, Then spoiled her sweet spiritual beauty And dragged it down into the night. I wooed lier in delicate fashion, Then sullied her soul with my lust, I poisoned her lile with my passion And murdered her beautiful trust. And cow her sweet spirit is flitting To where other sweet spirits wait, While I with soul lepers am sitting Just inside ol hell's awful gate.