Oracles

THE BLOOD-LOTUS 4I They murder with the old perfume that maddens all men’s blood ; we die Fresh from some corpse-clothed memory, some secret redolence of gloom, Some darkling murmurous song of lust quite strange to man and beast and bird, Silent in power, not overheard by any snake that eats the dust. No crimson-hooded viper knows ; no silver-crested asp has guessed The strange soft secrets of my breast ; no leprous cobra shall disclose The many-seated, multiform, divine, essential joys that these Dank odours bring, that starry seas wash white in vain ; intense and warm The scents fulfil ; they permeate all lips, all arteries, and fire New murmured music on the lyre that throbs the horrors they create. Omniscient blossom ! Is thy red slack bosom fresher for my kiss ? Are thy loves sharper ? Hast thou bliss in all the sorrow of the dead ?