Collected Works (Vol. II)

ODE TO VENUS CALLIPYGE 9 MY WIFE DIES. THE sun of love shone through my love’s deep eyes And made a rainbow of her tender tears, And on her cheeks I saw a blush arise When her lips opened to say, loverwise, ‘*T love”’—and light broke through the cloud of fears That hid her eyes. The storm of passion woke in her red lips, When first they clung to mine and rested there ; Lightnings of love were eager to eclipse That earlier sunshine, and her whole soul clips } My soul—I kissed out life within her hair Upon her lips. We parted lips from lips and soul from soul To new strange passions in unholy lands, Where love’s breath chars and scorches like a coal. So she is dead to-day—the sweet bells toll A lost, lost soul, a soul in Satan’s bands, A lost, lost soul ! ODE TO VENUS CALLIPYGE.! WHERE was light when thy body came Out of the womb of a perished prayer? Where was life when the sultry air, Hot with the lust of night and shame, | Brooded on dust, when thy shoulders bare Shone on the sea with a sudden flame Into all Time to abundant fame? Daughter of Lust by the foam of the sea! Mother offlame! Sister of shame ! Tiger that Sin nor her son cannot tame! ~Worshtp to thee! Glory to thee! Venus Callipyge, mother of me. 1 A statue in Naples. Callipyge means ‘* having beautiful buttocks,” - Fruitless foam of a sterile sea, Wanton waves of a vain desire, Maddening billows flecked with fire, Storms that lash on the brine, and flee, Dead delights, insatiate ire Broke like a flower to the birth of thee, Venus Callipyge, mother of me ! Deep wet eyes that are violet-blue ! Haggard cheeks that may blush no more! Body bruised daintily, touched of gore Where the sharp fierce teeth have bitten through The olive skin that thy sons adore, That they die for daily, are slain anew By manifold hate ; for their tale is few. Few are thy sons, but as fierce as dawn. Sweet are the seconds, weary the days. Nights? Ah! thine imagea thousand ways Is smitten and kissed on the fiery lawn Where the wash of the waves of thy native bays Laps weary limbs, that of thee have drawn Laughter and fire for their souls in pawn. O thy strong sons! they are dark as night, Cruel and barren and false as the sea. They have cherishéd Hell for the love of thee, Filled with thy lust and abundant might, Filled with the phantom desire to free - Body and soul from the sound and sight Of a world and a God that doth not right. O thy dark daughters! their breasts are slack, . Their lips so large and as poppies red ; They lie in a furious barren bed ; They lie on their faces ; their eyelids lack Tears, and their cheeks are as roses dead ; 0 White are their throats, but upon the back Red blood is clotted in gouts of black.