Le Strige is the only Symbol of our Sexual Vices,
A Demon winged with wind and with wild despair,
A hell-born Demon from the dire Infernal Lair
Of Satan, where the air is perfumed with subtle spices.
Deep in his eyes that dream of hidden Paradises
An ancestral anger burns; his snake's tongue bites the air;
Horned with his hate and crowned with jewels rare,
His vampire's Soul consumes itself with fruitless sacrifices.
His wings that never wave, his deadly venomous head,
His naked flesh half hidden by the sheer stone parapet,
Cheeks hollow his five fingers clutch support his chin:
His vision seizes Paris. What does his Demon's heart regret?
Infinite Weariness, yea, as infinite as our Sin.
On the Void's Verge, there fly before him multitudes of the Dead.
