Lermontov 1

In that tower tall and narrow,
Princese Tamara lived:

There through the midnightght fog ,
A golden light gleamed, beckoning
her voice was all desire & passion,
On a soft bed
in brocade and pearls,
She awaited s/her/the guest.

burning hands intertwined,
Lips stuck to lips,
strange, wild sounds

As if at that empty tower
hundreds celebrated the nocturnal wedding,
a great funeral...

in morning, darkness, silence
farewell so tender,
it promised the raptures
Of meeting and the caresses of love.

robert de montesquiou

Offrand Virginale

She sees nothing but official men, their dubious horrors,
and respects them with discourse.
When she achieves the mission she knows,
cities, temples, and hearts open,
but she guards her effort, never naked before
the vanquishers.
A bird goes to her and never returns.
When the drama is complete, the lips of the Holy,
a dove, Spirit herself, Paraclete.