Unwilling1 priestess in thy cruel fane, Long hast thou held me, pitiless god of Pain, Bound to thy worship by reluctant vows2, My tired breast girt with suffering, and my brows Anointed with perpetual weariness. Long have I borne thy service, through the stress Of rigorous years, sad days and slumberless nights, Performing thine inexorable rites3.
For thy dark altars, balm nor milk nor rice, But mine own soul thou'st ta'en for sacrifice： All the rich honey of my youth's desire, And all the sweet oils from my crushed life drawn4, And all my flower-like dreams and gem-like fire Of hopes up-leaping like the light of dawn.
I have no more to give, all that was mine Is laid, a wrested5 tribute, at thy shrine6； Let me depart, for my whole soul is wrung7, And all my cheerless orisons are sung； Let me depart, with faint limbs let me creep To some dim shade and sink me down to sleep.
