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WEEP, O thou pride of fingers deft that slip
Their shameless caprice in that narrow sheath,
Whence die this hollow's lilies underneath
Eros's unrelenting, crackling whip,


While in the centre golden groins vibrate,
And in a womb a noise of silver throbs,
And, sucking back his breath that stifles, sobs
The ichoglan on whom young Sultans wait;


With violins of the psychopomp to guide,
Through Lesbian skies your fleeting sorrows glide
In grey flakes unto Sodom's yellow blaze,


To rumble through the prolix radiance lit,
Hark! by the red trombone Antinous plays,
Hidden, and roaring laughter fit by fit.