IV
Our love is like a glittering sabre bloodied
With lives of men; upsoared the sudden sun;
The choral heaven woke; the aethyr flooded
All space with joy that you and I were one.
But in the dark and splendid dens of death
Arose an echo of that jewelled song :
There swept a savour of polluted breath
From the lost souls, the unsubstantial throng
That tasted once a shadow of our glory
And turn them in the evil house to adore
The godhead of our sin, the tragic story
We have set ourselves to write, the sombre score
Our daggers carve with poesy sublime
Upon the roof tree of despair and crime!
As we read Love and Death in either’s eyes,
We see the cool mild splendour of the dawn
Damned by some tragic throw of murderous dice
To slash like lightning over lea and lawn
Jagged and horrible across the curtain
Of heaven, writing ruin, ruin — we see
Our certain joy marred with a doubly certain
Soul-shattering anguish. — Bah! To you and me
Such loathing, such despair are little things.
We are afloat on the flood-tide of lust —
A lust more spiritual than life, that stings
Till death and hell dissolve i’ the aftergust.
So? But the Gods avert their faces, bend
Their holy brows, and see — no-happy end.