Collected Works (Vol. III)

IMAGES OF LIFE go! ROSA INFERNI.! ‘Ifa ha! John plucketh now at his rose ‘To rid himself ofa 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. Rosk 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 Ifeaved 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, No serpent in the generous draught of wine? Did I guess all, who guessed your life well given Up to my kiss? Aha! the veil is riven! Beneath the smiling mask of a young bride Languorous, luscious, melancholy-eyed ; Beneath the gentle raptures, hints celestial Of holy secrets, kisses like soft dew, Reneath the amorous mystery, I view The surer shape, a visage grim and bestial, A purpose sly and deadly, a black shape, A tiger snarling, or a grinning ape Resolved by every devilish device Upon my murder. This I clearly see Now you are—for an hour—away from me. I see it once ; no need to tell me twice ! 1 Being the necessary sequel to Rosa Mundi. —A.C II. Some Yankee yelled—I tag it to a rime— ‘You can’t fool all the people all the time.” So he of politics; so I of love. I am a-many folk (let Buddha prove !) And many a month you fooled the lot of us— Your spell is cracked within the ring! Behold How Christ with clay worth more than any gold Cleared the man’s eyes! amorous Is blinded with the horror of the truth He sees this moment. Foolish prostitute ! You slacked your kiss upon the sodden youth In some excess of confidence, decay Of care to hold him—can I tell you which? Down goes the moon—one sees the howling bitch ! The salmon you had hooked in fin and gill You reel unskilfully—he darts away. Alas! you devil, but vou hold me still ! So the blind III. QO first and fairest of Earth’s darling daughters ! How could I sing you?—you have always seemed Unto the saucy driveller as he dreamed Like a rich sunset seen on tropic waters— (Your eyes effulgent from a _ thousand slaughters Looked tenderly upon me !) all the red Raving round you like a glory shed Upon the excellent wonder of your head ; The blue all massed within your marvellous eyes; The gold a curtain of their harmonies As in a master canvas of de Ryn;+ But ever central glowed the royal! sun, A miracle cartouche upon the edge Of the opalescent waters slantwise seen. This oval sealed with grave magnificence Stamped you my queen. Thus looked your lips to one 1 Rerabrandt.