Eyes

Why does this passion I have for passionate eyes consume me?
Morbid enough the attraction, as the fashions in season
Cause me amusement; there are some that with odours perfume me.
Not as the perfume of women. I know not the reason
Why these tastes should be different. Eyes have their fashion
Of seducing the very senses by the beauty of some of them;
Some are less beautiful, some more perverse in passion;
But in the eyes of the unfortunates, what shall become of them?
Spanish eyes more intense than their Christs in Crucifixions,
Eyes that love and that hate and that promise and refuse,
Eyes much more hateful and evil than maledictions;
Eyes of the treacherous Jewess and eyes of the Jew.
Eyes that are eyes of the masks, eyes that are poisonous,
Eyes of the morbid morphine-drunk women whose gazes
Drag at one's senses, drift in one's veins, eyes more ruinous
Than the rages that make them dilate; eyes that one praises
Just for the dream that is in them; eyes unforgiving,
Eyes of a spectre that withers and seems to hurt you;
Eyes of a singer on a stage, just: alive, yet not living:
And the damnable gem-like eyes that turn Vice into Virtue.