Cold Cuban gold doth bite
Behold a siren wild upon the stone, her tresses damp with brine, her feet unshod;
a gown of chiffon white about her flies, strewn thick with roses red as summer's blood.
In crimson next she clings, the dress deep slit, whilst round her teeth cold Cuban gold doth bite, soft silk 'gainst harder chain,
O sweet excess, half goddess drowned, half daughter of the storm. Thus doth the Middle Sea keep glamour's fangs.
