Oracles

THE BLOOD-LOTUS 43 Jesus would lure me : from His side the gleaming torrent of the spear Withdraws, my soul with joy and fear waits for sweet blood to pour its tide Of warm delight—in vain ! so cold, so watery, so slack it flows, It leaves me moveless as a rose, albeit her flakes are manifold. He hath no scent to drive men mad ; no mystic fragrance from his skin Sheds a loose hint of subtle sin such as the queen Faustina had. Thou drawest me. Thy golden lips are carven Cleopatra wise. Large, full, and moist, within them lies the silver rampart, whence there slips That rosy flame of love, the spring of blood at my light bidding spilt ; And thy desires, if aught thou wilt, are softer at my suffering. Fill up with Death Life’s loving-cup ! Give me the knowledge, me the power For some new sin one little hour, provoking Hell to belch us up.