Transition

I am thy Pleasure. See, my face is fair— With silken strands of joy I twine thee round; Life has enough of stress—forget with me! Wilt thou not stay? Then go, thou art not bound. I am thy Pastime. Let me be to thee A daily refuge from the haunting fears That bind thee, choke thee, fill thy soul with woe. Seek thou my hand, let me assuage thy tears. I am thy Habit. Nay, start not, thy will Is yet supreme, for art thou not a man? Then draw me close to thee, for life is brief— A little space to pass as best one can. I am thy Passion. Thou shalt cling to me Through all the years to come. The silken cord Of Pleasure has become a stronger bond, Not to be cleft, nor loosened at a word. I am thy Master. Thou shalt crush for me The grapes of truth for wine of sacrifice; My clanking chains were forged for such as thee, I am thy Master—yea, I am thy vice!