The World Well Lost XVIII

Marc-André Raffalovich

You are to me the secret of my soul

And I to you what no man yet has been.

I, your Prometheus, fire from Heaven stole

And for my theft the world's revenge is keen.

What I have done for you no man has done;

I have nor begged nor bought a common bliss,

But what you are to me you were to none.

And I will suffer this, and more than this,

And much beyond that more, a martyrdom

Without the crown of a celestial birth,

Or any hope of any world to come

Exalting most what lowest was on Earth,

   The passion purest of all out of Heaven,

   The love in Hell least easily forgiven.