This is the old enchanted wood,
   Sweet lime trees scent the wind
The glamor of the moon has cast
   A spell upon my mind.

Onward I walk, and, as I walk --
   Hark to that high, soft strain!
That is the nightingale, she sings,
   Of love and of love's pain.

She sings of love and of love's pain,
   Of laughter and of tears.
So plaintive his carol, so joyous her sobs,
   I dream of forgotten years.

Onward I walk, and as I walk,
   There stands before mine eyes
A castle proud on an open lawn,
   Whose gables high uprise.

With casements closed, and everywhere
   Sad silence in court and halls,
It seemed as though mute death abode
   Within those barren walls.

Before the doorway crouched a sphinx,
   Half horror and half grace;
With a lion's body,a lion's claws,
   And a woman's breast and face.

A woman fair! The marble glance
   Spake wild desire and guile.
The silent lips were proudly curled
   In a a confident, glad smile.

The nightingale, she sang so sweet,
   I yielded to her tone.
I touched, I kissed the lovely face,
   And lo, I was undone!

The marble image stirred with life,
   The stone began to move;
She drank my fiery kisses' glow
   With panting thirsty love.

She well nigh drank my breath away;
   And, lustful still for more,
Embraced me, and my shrinking flesh
   With lion claws she tore.

Oh, rapturous martyrdom! ravishing pain!
   Oh, infinite anguish and bliss!
With her horrible talons she wounded me,
   While she thrilled my soul with a kiss.

The nightingale sang: "Oh beautiful sphinx,
   Oh love! what meaneth this?
That thou minglest still the pangs of death
   With thy most peculiar bliss?

Thou beautiful Sphinx, oh solve for me
   This riddle of joy and tears!
I have pondered it over again and again,
   How many thousand years!"