Sin

There is a legend of an old Hartz tower
  That tells of one, a noble, who had sold
  His soul unto the Fiend; who grew not old
  On this condition: That the demon's power
  Cease every midnight for a single hour,
  And in that hour his body should be cold,
  His limbs grow shriveled, and his face, behold!
  Become a death's-head in the taper's glower.--
  So unto Sin Life gives his best. Her arts
  Make all his outward seeming beautiful
  Before the world; but in his heart of hearts
  Abides an hour when her strength is null;
  When he shall feel the death through all his parts
  Strike, and his countenance become a skull.