Collected Works (Vol. II)

126 AHAB What mighty weakness stays the king If he arise, and cast desire Far from its seat and seed and spring To Hinnom the detested fire? Ay! both were wise. Madness alone Sits throned on the king’s vacant throne. Dogs! Who dares break on me? ‘‘ Dread lord ! Mightiest of monarchs !”—‘‘ Cease, thou crow ! Thine errand ! ere the eunuch’s sword Snatch thy bald head off at a blow.” “* Mercy, World’s Light !” Swings clear and clean The call ‘‘ Room for the Queen! The Queen !” Strong as a man, the Queen strides in. Even she shrank frighted !—my aspect More dreadful than all shapes of sin Her dreams might shape or recollect, Hideous with fasting, madness, grief, Beyond all speaking or belief. But the first glance at those bold eyes! Ah! let me fling me at her feet ! Take me, O love! Thy terror flies. Kiss me again, again, O sweet ! O honeyed queen, old paramour, So keen our joy be and so sure! ‘‘The king would be alone !”’ Fast fly The trembling lackeys at her voice. Lapped in her billowy breasts I he, And love, and languish, and rejoice, And—ah—forget ! The ecstatic hour Bursts like a poppy into flower. Back ! thou black spectre! In her arms Devouring and devoured of love, Feeding my face in myriad charms, As on a mountain feeds a dove, Starred with fresh flowers, dew-bright, and pearled With all the light of all the world: ‘Back ! loved and loathed ! Back! With the kisses ravening fast Upon my panting mouth, the eyes Darting hot showers of light, the vast And vicious writhings, the caught sighs Drunk with delight, on love’s own throne, The moment where all time lies prone : Back! At the very central shrine, Pinnacled moment of excess Of immolation’s blood divine : Back ! from the fleshly loveliness: O face concealed! Back! One hath whispered ‘‘ Naboth’s field,” Iam slain. Her body passion-pearled Dreams her luxurious lips have drawn My spirit, as the dust wind-whirled Sucks up the radiance of the dawn In rainbow beauty 1—yet remains Mere dust upon the barren plains. Reluctance to reveal my grief Is of my sickness a strange feature. Yea, verily ! beyond belief Is the machinery of man’s nature ! If thus spake Solomon in kind Of body, I of soul and mind ! The lazy accents stir at last The scented air: ‘‘ Oh, wherefore, lord, Is thy soul sad? This weary fast Strikes to my heart a lonely sword In brief words stammered forth I spoke My secret ; and the long spell broke. 1”? And now the gilded sin of her Leapt and was lambent in a smile: ‘*Give me but leave to minister This kingdom for a little while! The vineyard shall he thine. O king, This trouble is a little thing !” ' «* Dust-devils"’ show opalescence in certain aspects of light.