IV
Lola. The name is like the amorous call
Of some bright-bosomed bird in bowers of blue.
Tis like the great moon-crested waterfall
With hammering heart. ’Tis like the rain of dew
That quires to the angel stars. ’Tis like a bell
Rung by an holy anchoret to summon
Out of the labyrinths of heaven and hell
Some grave, majestic, and deep-breasted woman
To bring her naked body shining, shining
With flowers of heaven or flames of Phlegethon
Into his hermit cell, her love entwining
Into his life with spells that murmur on
Black words! For one thing be you sure the same
My wine is as the music of your name!
Marden. Believe me, mystic maiden 0’ mine,
That title shall assure the throne of heaven
To you — the more so that your love divine
That maidenhood to me hath freely given?
Nor have I touched the ark with hands unholy,
Nor with unsaintly kisses soiled the shrine:
Nepenthe, amaranth, vervain, myrrh and moly
Are deathless blooms about our chaste design.
Not vou resisting, but myself refraining,
Gives us the eternal spring, the elixir rare,
That mage and sage have sought, and uncomplaining
Never attained. We found it early where
The Gods find children! Maiden o’ mine, be sure
My wine shall be as pure as you are pure: