Rosa Inferni

ROSA INFERNI Ha ha ! John plucketh now at his rose To rid himself of a sorrow at heart. Lo,—petal on petal, fierce rays unclose ; Anther on anther, sharp spikes outstart ; And with blood for dew, the bosom boils ; And a gust of sulphur is all its smell. And lo, he is horribly in the toils Of a coal-black giant flower of hell ! BROWNING, Heretic’s Tragedy, ix. I OSE of the world ! Ay, love, in that warm hour Wet with your kisses, the bewitching bud Flamed in the starlight ; then our bed your bower Heaved like the breast of some alluring flood Whereon a man might sleep for ever, until Death should surprise him, kiss his weary will Into the last repose, profounder power Than life could compass. Now I tax my skill To find another holier name, some flower Still red, but red with the ecstasy of blood. Dear love, dear wife, dear mother of the child Whose fair faint features are a match for mine, Lurks there no secret where your body smiled, 1 R