Tannhäuser monologue (Act 4) — Tannhäuser : $b A story of all time

[_Sings._ Can you believe the deadly will’s decree, The bitter earnestness of this desire, The deep intention, the solemnity, Profound as night and penetrant as fire, The awful grasping at the Infinite, Even as I grapple at the breasts of thee, The seeking and the striving to the light Deep in thine eyes, where Hell flames steadily? I am not clinging thus Despairing to the body of thy sin For mere delight—Ah, deadly is to us The pleasure wrapping us, and holding in All love, all hate—the miserable way! Dawns no devouring day Still on the infinite slow tune of limbs Moving in rapture; sleepy echo swims In the dissolving brain. Love conquering lassitude at last to win Pain out of peace, and pleasure from a pang; Then, scorpion-stung of its own terrible tang, Burnt of its own fire, soiled of its own stain, Falls conquered as a bird Bolt-stricken through the brain, To the resounding plain: The double word, The see-saw of all misery—begin The alluring mysteries of lust and sin; Ends their delight!—and are they clear to sight? Or mixed with death, compact of night? Begin—the bitter tears of impotence, The sad permuted sense Of this despair—what would you? and renew The long soft warfare—the enchanted arms, The silken body’s charms, The lips that murmur and the breasts that sting The eyes that sink so deep Beyond the steeps and avenues of sleep, And of their wonder bring No ultimation from the halls of night, The slippery staircase, and the Fatal Throne, The Evil Mouse, the Fugitive of Light, The great Unluminous, the Formless One! Stoop not! Beneath, a precipice is set, The Seven Steps. Stoop not, forget Never the splendid Image, and the realm Where lightnings overwhelm The evil, and the barren, and the vile, In God’s undying smile! Stoop not, O stoop not, to yon splendid world, Yon darkly-splendid, airless, void, inane, Blind confines in stupendous horror curled, The sleepless place of Terror and distress, Luring damned souls with lying loveliness, The Habitation and the House of Pain. For that is their abode, the Wretched Ones, Of all unhappiness the sons!