MESSALINE 
 
 
Beneath the living cross I lie 
And swoon towards eternity : 
Prodigious sinewy shapes, and lean 
And curving limbs of Messaline. 
The deep arched eyes, the floating mane,— 
One pierces, one wraps-in my brain. 
A crown of thorn, a spear of clean 
Cold fire of dying Messaline. 
Swart tangles of devouring hair, 
The scorpion labyrinth and snare, 
Leprous entanglements of sense, 
The Imminence of the Immense. 
And in the deep hard breath I draw 
Kissed from her strangling mouth and maw, 
I feel the floating deaths that dwell 
 
 
9