The Dancer’s Reward

The anguish of an intant: her reward,
Salome's, who has danced the dance of Death.
Blood drips from the severed head of the Abhorred,
Venomous as viper's blood; on her lips, her breath
Divides them in a spasm; cruelty
Glares in her eyes; her hand holds like a sword
One lock of dead black hair that angrily
Revolts as snakes do in their tangled lair.
Ah, the death-agony of that dear dead mouth,
Salome's mouth, when it was living, adored!
Still the blood drips. O wind out of the south
Waft hellward that crescent on Salome's hair!
Ah, the sweet hell that, after her dancing, grips her!
That head of death; the terror of it grows
Upon her. O that mad folly of the Rose
That dances in her vision and that lips her!