Seraphis

He tasted dragon’s blood
From the dark dragon tree,
In those far islands where the mood
Is faery-like and free.

With cinnamon and nard
His strange gay clothes were sweet,
His lips were fanciful with fard,
Red flames played ’round his feet.

Sharp dancing pointed flames,
Detached as butterflies,
He called them all by secret names,
They were his ecstasies.

No love, no maiden bright
Might woo him from his swoon,
For he had tasted strange delight
In lands beyond the moon.