With Her Fair Face She Made My Heaven, Beneath Whose Stars And Moon And Sun I Worshiped, Praying, Having Striven, For Wealth Through Which She Might Be Won. And Yet She Had No Soul: A Woman As Fair And Cruel As A God; Who Played With Hearts As Nothing Human, And Tossed Them By And On Them Trod. She Killed A Soul; She Did It Nightly; Luring It Forth From Peace And Prayer, To Strangle It, And Laughing Lightly, Cast It Into The Gutter There. And Yet, Not For A Purer Vision Would I Exchange; Or Paradise Possess Instead Of Hell, My Prison, Where Burns The Passion Of Her Eyes.