Classic Poem

You hold my heart in your slender hands,
In your cold, your cruel, careless hands
In your beautiful hands, fanned by a breath
Like the breath of the rose, it is dying its death;

In your beautiful hands with their glitter of rings,
Each ring a trophy that scornfully sings
Of other hearts that have lain like mine
On your cruelly beautiful, pitiless shrine;

Of other hearts that have gone to their death,
Swooned to sleep by that sweet, sweet breath,
That breath of the rose that comes and goes
As the smiling, beautiful lips unclose,

When night after night down dizzying dances
They follow and follow your dazzling glances,
While round and round by the music whirled,
As I'd follow and follow you over the world!

Then hold me fast in your slender hands,
In your cruelly beautiful, pitiless hands;
Let me forever be dying my death,
Swooned to sleep by that sweet, sweet breath.

Let me forever be whirling there,
Lost in a trance divinely fair;
Let me forever be stricken and slain,
And dying with this delicious pain!