I took a long walk one arid evening
And found myself on the bank of Lethe,
Stretched out beneath the yellow moon, gleaming

Like an obsidian belt, flowing free
Of torrents or tides, taking its time
To soak in moonlight, almost blinding me.

Then, I heard a voice gentle as a chime,
And turned, and saw, my Beatrice standing there,
With soft, smiling eyes the color of lime,

And let my love lead me by her flowing hair
To the river’s edge, the water quietly lapping
At our toes, and I almost thought I was free of care

‘Till I felt a sharp, familiar tapping
At my shoulder. Turning the other way,
There was the nymphal Dolores, doting

With her wide, doey eyes and aplomb display
Of ripe, inviting figure under a gossamer veil,
And childish lips curling, playful and gay.

Behind me I heard my fair Beatrice sigh - frail
She had become just now, though her gentle eyes
With silent emerald calmness soothed the darkening vale,

And her lake-like countenance, composed and wise,
Made me blush at the lustrous, lustful allure
That shone in my sight and made my desires rise.

Without a word, my love produced a chalice, pure
And golden, from her robe, and bent to fill
With misty, moonlit water. I was sure

The other would do the same, but still
Stared the wide-eyed wench for a while, seducing
Ogle never yielding, as though her will

Was set on lust in me inducing.
At last Dolores cupped in the inky potion
In her hands. No golden goblet producing,

She sucked the water in one nimble motion,
And held it in her mouth, brimming at the lips,
And bore her body as if on sudden notion.

Tearing my eyes away, I saw a tear slip
From my fair maiden’s eyes, now downcast,
And roll into the cup, at the end of its trip

Down her face. When the realization came fast,
She raised her countenance as before, and smiled
Once more, now marred by sadness, and

Offered me the chalice, as did wild
Dolores her open mouth and anatomy,
A blooming bud aching to be defiled.

There I stood between flesh and purity,
Between the tears and the naked embrace,
Of the chalice and open mouth, while Lethe

Lay before me, stirring, twitching its face,
And started to ebb from its ancient depths,
‘Till the still waters broke out in full chase.

I for fear of something more than death,
Perhaps damnation, or despair, already
Upon me, gave myself with quivering breath

To the river’s violent arms, gratefully
Sinking, already feeling the mighty flow
Carrying me towards oblivion surely.

The shore became faraway, and the glow
From gentle Beatrice no more could I see.
Soon unconsciousness fell on me like snow,

And darkness fed my brain its remedy,
And I lost my place in time and went to sleep.
But woke, woke! to being cradled by Bea,

Wrapped in her arms, and I was one to weep
This time, and she at last spoke to respond:
“The time has not come for you to sink into the deep

“Like one of us, had you made the fond
Decision to drink from either lips or chalice,
And by ridding the other, completely bond

“With the one where your heart truly lies.”
Her eyes were laughing now, her figure full
And bright, no longer frail, and dispelled all malice.

My eyes no longer felt the seducer’s pull:
“She has fled,” said Bea, “seized by unknown fear
Or cowardice, though you shall see her dull

“Persistence yet another time, how near
She is I cannot tell, though you’ll always
Have me in your heart.” Her kind, calm, clear

Eyes released my soul from her embrace,
And pointed to behind. I turned to look,
And there was a narrow pathway, between straits

That I knew I must follow. I felt the crook
Of her arm vanish around me, and stood
Up to go, as if finishing a book,

And the evening came back to me, its good
Wind soft like her hair, and I walked while I could.