Collected Works (Vol. III)

SONNETS AND QUATORZAINS 119 BOUCHES D’ENFER. Loox how it leaps towards the leaper’s curl OF vivid ecstasy, life loosed at last From the long-held leash! The headlong, hot-mouthed girl Upon her sister like a star is cast, Pallid with death-in-life achieved. O force Of murder animal in the dead embrace ! The implacable ardour, unavenged remorse For time’s insulting loss, quickens the pace Unto its prey that gathers, like a storm Shrouding invisibly the crater’s rim Whence fury yet shall wake, and fire in- form The inane basalt and coruscations dim Of smouldering infamy. Bow down in awe! It is enough. The Gods areat feast. With- draw ! LA GUERRE SHE sits and screams above the folk of peace, Deafening their quiet ears with hideous clamour, Abhorred and careless she bids order cease. Her hate resolves the shriek into a stammer Ofinarticulate rage. The wounded man Twisted in agony beneath her squirms To hear her raucous blasphemies outspan The grip of God at this his last of terms. Yea! he must die with horror in his ears, Hate in his heart. The mischief must endure. He hath expiated naught by death. His tears, His thoughts, these strike nor stay her not, be sure ! She is Madness, and a fury; though were gone All life to war, she would scream on—scream Ol. W. E. HENLEY! CLOISTRAL seclusion of the galleried pines Is mine to-day : these groves are fit for Pan— O rich with Bacchic frenzy and his wine’s Atonement for the infinite woe of man! Is there no God of Vital Art to dwell Serene, enshrined, incensed, adored of us? Were not a cemetery His citadel? His treasure-house some barred sarcophagus? And here his mighty and reverend high-priest Bade me good cheer, an eager acolyte, Poured the high wine, unveiled the mystic feast ;— Swooped the plumed anguish of inveterate night ; Devouring torture of insight shot. Night hovered; Dawn smote. I bowed—O God declared, discovered ! SYRINX AND PAN. SYRINX is caught upon the Arcadian field. The god’s grip huddles her girl breasts: his grim And gnarléd lips grin forth the soul of him. The imprint of his bestial heart is sealed And stamped armorial on her virgin shield, Fame’s argent heraldry despoiled. Grows dim For her the universe: supple and slim She slides in vain. She loathes him—and doth yield. Shame, sorrow, these be sire and dam of song. Fatality, O Nature, is thy name. Along the accurséd river, stagnant shame, Eddying woe, from rape and godly wrong, Springs the immortal reed: the mortal’s cry Rises, an angry anthem, to the sky,_ 1 Written on a visit to the late W. E. Henley at Woking some three weeks before his death, The influence of the man has perhaps over- shadowed that of the bust of him by Rodin.