Collected Works (Vol. III)

IMAGES OF DEATH 97 Let song and cry leave tune and tone, Perish uncried and die unsung ! Nature, the monotonic moan Roared by the river, thunder alone :— The Hoang-Ho, its note, the monstrous Kung !2 Or let Kailasha’s ? godded peak Summon the oread and the gnome To leave their toils, the word to speak That shakes its azure-splitting dome With the reverberation—listen !—Aum ! Let olive fail, and mangostin ! O’erturn the dark forbidden draught ! Give me the taste, the taste unclean Of human flesh and blood that inean Some infinite horror to the light that laughed ! So let the scent of lily and rose, Of jasmine, taggara,® pass away ! Let patchouli, patchouli, repose My nostrils with your odour grey, Dead darlings exquisite in your decay ! So, silk and velvet, fur and skin, Your sensuous touch shall quit me quite : I am at swiving strain with sin— I'll touch the stars, the blood run thin From the torn breast of Night, my mother Night. Nor shall the mind revoke at ease These myriad cressets from the sun; Constrained in sober destinies Thought’s river shall its ripples run Into the one, the one, the one, the one. 1 The fundamental tone in Chinese music; supposed to be given by the Hoang-Ho river, according to Professor Rice. 2 Sacred mountain in the Himalaya, the abode of Shiva. 3 An eastern perfume. Dhammapada. VOL. ITI. Cf. Max Miiller’s Bursting the universe, a grip Girds me to God ; aha! the bliss ! Begone, frail tortures wrung from whip, Weak joys sucked hard from leman’s lip, Ye are nought at all, are nought at all, in this ! But brown Habiba’s fawn-wide gaze And white Zuleikha’s drowsy glance Woo me to waking unto day’s Delight from night’s unmeasured trance :— To drink, to dally, to desire, to dance. Ah! beautiful and firm your hips, Habib ! ah ! coolthsome your caress, Zuleikha ! soft your honey lips— The tongue of pleasure subtly sips The wine that age distils, and calls dis. tress. Enough ! when all is ended, when The poppied pleasure purples pain— Death—shall I laugh or smile? Amen! I'll wake, one last fond cup to drain, And then—to sleep again, to sleep again ! KALI} THERE is an idol in my house By whom the sandal alway steams. Alone, I make a black carouse With her to dominate my dreams. With skulls and knives she keeps control (O Mother Kali!) of my soul. She is crowned with emeralds like leaves, And rubies flame from either eye; A rose upon her bosom heaves, Turquoise and lapislazuli. She hath a kirtle like a maid :— Amethyst, amber, pearl, and jade! 1 The most popular form, in Bengal, of Sakti, the Hindu Isis. G