Come, my child: over there, guarded by an angel,Treasurer of the secrets of forbidden Knowledge,There bleeds, for corrupted hearts, a strange vine,Twined with the hissing snake of Paradise Lost.
The angel sleeps when I wish. Come,My beautiful child, eat with wanton teethThe clusters where my mouth has bitten:Tomorrow you will know the cost of the wineAnd the power of the vintage your elder has sold you.
You will watch yourself act and think and live,You will be at once the reader and the book,The obscure writer of that hideous book.
And you will die very old, cultivating your pain,For having abdicated the sceptre of your ignorance,Which raised you to the height of heroes and the gods.
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