[創作] An Ascetic Plight
Of flesh the secret Desire,
In a bound soul burns the fire.
The Holy Psalm lies unfold,
And the Red Cross shines in gold,
To which he trembles in shame,
Whispering God's sacred Name;
The Spirit he seeks to drive,
The Demon who sets the Hive.
Images entwined in his mind,
That profane lust he keeps hind:
"Bethink me of Jesus' blood,
That shed for Men on the rood,
And of His Mother, the Dame,
By Grace, to put off the flame!"
But now he strikes to know,
Those he prays from him do go.
Carving on his back red gashes,
From the black whip's falling lashes,
His throat he graspes to aspire,
His eyes dug from hollows dire.
In dark wields he a dagger,
His sinful limbs to sever,
So overflows the blood,
As the ancient God-raged Flood.
Untainted was the Scripture,
And so the shiny Signature;
God and His Son in throne lie,
Watching coldly this wretch die.
"Do They smile this woe to see?
Do They who made Men kill thee?*"
A pious fool doth expire;
How can Pain excel Desire?
*:From William Blake's "Tyger"
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Where words fail, music speaks.
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