Collected Works (Vol. III)

LIBER SECUNDUS VEL AMORIS 161 She lies so pitiful and pure—and I, Breast to her breast, mouth to her mouth, I lie, Hand upon hand, and foot on foot, sore weeping— Can she not live again or I not die? As the old prophet on the child I fall And breathe—but no breath answers me at all. All of my kisses stir no blush, no sigh ; She will not hear me ever if I call! Let the far music of oblivious years Sound in the sea beneath! Are not its waters one with all my tears? Hath Atropos no comfort in her shears? No Muse for me one wreath? Were I now dead and free to travel far Whither I will, ah me! Not whither I must—were there no avatar Drawn like my love from some close kindred star? No shape seen on the sea? Were I now free of this intense desire, By swift magician power I might fly westward shod with wings of fire And find my love, and in her arms expire, Or wed her for an hour. (Not for an hour as man, but even as God Whose day is like an aeon. Love hath nor station, stage, nor period : But is at once in his inane abode Beneath the spring Dircean.) Alas, the will flies ere the power began. Lo, in the Idan grove Invoking Zeus to swell the power of Pan, The prayer discomfits the demented man ! Lust lies as still as love. 1 Referring to the story of Elisha. - This obscure stanza means: that the in- vocation of high and pure forces cannot be diverted to low and impure ends; because the man becomes identified with what he invokes, of necessity. VOL. ITT. Therefore in memory only is there life, And in sweet shapes of art : The same thought for the ointment and the knife— Oh lightning! blast the image of my wife Out of my mind and heart! How can one hour dissolve a year’s delight ? One arrow striking the full eagle-flight lDrop him so swift, giving no time to die, No dusk to herald and delay the night? «AV serpent stung her sleeping: if the abyss Know any cell more dolorous than this, Were there a sharper tooth to destiny Than this that strikes me in the dead girl’s kiss :— Oh if aught bitterer could be, could know, If ninefold Styx could gather in its flow Cocytus, Phlegethon, and Acheron, All mixed to one full flood of hate and woe: And poisoned by all venom like to his Who kissed Eurydice the traitor-kiss :— Then let them sting me fourfold, nor atone Then for the eightfold misery of this ! Is not some justice somewhere? he Hateful to God and man, a misery. ‘T’o his own vileness by exceeding it, Who crawls God-cursed throughout eternity Where is Nay! sure he- lives, and licks his slavered lips, Laughing to think how the sweet morsel slips, The breast-flower of my bride; the dainty bit Fit for—ah God! the pearl-smooth blossom drips Poisonous blood that will not poison me, Though I drink deep its fierce intensity. My lips closed silent on her bosom’s light, The stung blood springs—like pearls beneath the sea