Open a bird that is soon to be roasted,
Draw from its body the shining heart,
Let it with drops of blood be basted,
Seethe it in wine and set it apart;
When it is cool, in your left hand take it;
Squeezing it tight as your fingers can,
Say these words to warm it and wake it,
So to possess any maiden or man:
My fire is thine,
Thy blood my wine:
Thy love, my dove,
Must soon be mine.
Halve, with the blade of a silver knife,
It’s yielding flesh, delicious and sweet,
Then taste it, munch it, swallow its life –
Next to your own, that heart shall beat.
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