Collected Works (Vol. III)

Q2 GARGOYLES Who stood a casual on life’s slippery ledge, A blind bat hanging from the tree of sense Ifead downward, gorged with sweet banana juice, Indifferent to—incapable of—aught Beyond these simple reflexes. Is thought, Even the highest thought, of any use? IV. We are not discussing metaphysics now. I see below the beautiful low brow (Low too for cunning, like enough !) your lips, A scarlet splash of murder. From them drips This heart’s blood ; you have fed your fill on me. I am exhaust, a pale, wan phantom floating Aimless in air, than which [am thinner. You I see, more brilliant, of that sanguine hue ([f anything be true that I can see) Full fed ; you smile, a smile obscenely gloating On the voluptuous wreck your lust hath wrought. See the loose languor of precipitate thought These versicles exhale! ILow rude the rime! There is no melody; the tune and time Are broken. Thirteen centuries ago They would have said, ‘‘ Alas! the youth! We know : This devil hath from him plucked the im- mortal soul.” / say: you have dulled my centres of control ! V. If you were with me, I were blind to this: Ready to drain my arteries for your kiss, Feel your grasp tighten round my ribs until You crush me in the ecstasies that kill. Being away and breathing icy air I am half lover, caring not to care ; Half-man again—a mere terrestrial ball Thus breaking up a spiritual thrall— Eh, my philosophers ?—half-man may yet determine To get back manhood, shake the tree from bats : To change the trope a shade—get rid of vermin By using William Shakespeare’s ‘‘ Rough on Rats.” } VI. Ah, love, dear love, sole queen of my affec- tion, (Suess you not yet what wheel of thought is spun? How out of dawn’s tumultuous dejection And not from noon springs up the splendid sun? Not till the house is swept and garnished well Rise seven other devils out of hell. VII. This is the circle ; as the manhood rises And laughter and rude rhyme engage my pen; As I stalk forth, a Man among mere men, The balance changes ; all my wit surprises That I who saw the goblins in your face, That I who cursed you for the murderous whore Licking up life as a cat laps its milk, Now see you for a dream of youth and grace, Relume the magic aura that begirt you, Bless you for purity and life—a store ! An ever-running fountain-head of virtue To heal my soul and buckler it and harden ! Your body is like ivory and silk ! Your lips are like the poppies in the garden ! Your face is like a wreath of flowers to crown me! Your eyes are wells wherein I long to drown me ! Your hair is like a waterfall above me, A waterfall of sunset! In your bosom I hear the racing of a heart to love me. Your blood is beating like a wind-blown blossom With rapture that you mingle it in mine! Your breath is fresh as foam and keen as wine ! Intoxicating glories are your glances ! Your bodily beauty grips my soul and dances 1 Meaning that by study of Shakespeare he would resume higher interests, and baffle the sensual seductions of this siren.