Collected Works (Vol. III)

90 GARGOYLES This man with a light axe did lop The little branches at the top. Then said the poet: ‘‘ Thus why tax Your force? This double-handed axe Were better laid to the tree-trunk.” ~ ‘* Friend, are you natural, or drunk?” Replied the woodsman ; ‘‘ leaf and twig Divert the impact of the big Axe ; chop them first, the trunk is fit For a fair aim, a certain hit. How do you work yourself?” He spoke To empty space—the poet woke ; And catching up a carving-knife He slit the weasand of his wife. A NUGGET FROM A MINE. A MINER laboured in a mine. (The poet dreamed) By coarse and fine He shovelled dust into a trolley. ‘* But this” (the poet said) ‘‘is folly ! Take up your pick, engage in shock At the foundation of the rock !” The miner swore. ‘‘ You You clever —— ! go to school And college and be —~-! Strike you! There ain’t no sense in forty like you ! If I don’t clear this muck, the pick Will foul and jam, slip, swerve, or stick. Clear off the chips, the blow goes true. Now, mister, off, my to you!” The last oath faded in the air. The poet woke and was aware Of property and children. Claims His breech a vesta. Up the flames Leap ; he stalks forth, free among men, With just a notebook and a pen. fool ! AU CAVEAU DES INNOCENTS. Oct, 28, 1904. NiGut, like a devil, with lidless eyes, Stands avenging over the Halls. Sleep there is none, for day awaits Tokens of toil; there is none that dies, Death being rest; there is none that calls, Voice being human; only the Fates Rattle the dice at a sombre game, Game without goal of peace or fame. Sinister, sombre, horrors and hates Lurk in the shadows, under the walls. Light deceives, and the darkness lies. Love there is none; he is child of peace: Joy there is none; she is bride of force: Thought there is none; it is birth :—there fell Ages ago all hope of these. Lust is awake, and its friend remorse. Crime we snatch, between spell and spell. Man is aglare, and is off unheard. Woman hath speech, of a single word. Hell may be heaven, for earth is hell! So do I laugh, and the hideous coarse Peals like applause re-echo and cease. Here in the close and noisome cave, Drunk on the breath of the thieves and whores Close as they cram in the maw of the pit, Sick with the stench of the kisses that rave . Round me, surfeiting sense, in scores } Mad with their meaning, I smoke and sit Rhyming at random through my teeth, Grey with the mire of the slough beneath, Deep in the hearts that revel in it, Drowned in the breath of the hell that pours In the heart of Paris its infamous wave. Damning the soul of God, I rise, Stumble among the dissolute bands, Grope to the steep inadequate stairs Scrawled with villainous names. My eyes Loathe the flare of the flickering brands. Out I climb through the greasy airs Into the cold and desolate road. Horror is sure of a safe abode Here in this heart, too pale for prayers, While over the Halls avenging stands Night, like a devil, with lidless eyes.