Sin

There is a legend of an old Hartz tower That tells of one, a noble, who had sold His soul unto the Fiend; who grew not old On this condition: that the Demon’s power Cease every midnight for a single hour, And, in that hour, his body should lie cold With limbs up-shriveled, and with face, behold! Shrunk to a death’s-head in the taper’s glower.-- So unto Sin Life gives his best. Her arts Make all his outward seeming beautiful Before the world; but in his heart of hearts Abides an hour when her strength is null; When he shall feel the death through all his parts Strike, and his countenance become a skull.