136 
ROSA DECIDUA 
 
 
Let a man pierce my side, 
I warrant him nor blood nor water flows, 
But such a poison as Locusta never 
Distilled from toad, asp, viper, scorpion, 
Nightshade, gall, orpiment, Jews’ hearts, 
Old women’s tongues, by monstrous arts ;   
But this my poison drips, without endeavour, 
From the mere soul of the world’s rose !   
What alchemy of hell this ronyon 
Venus has skill of !   
Wonder that I live !   
This has been like a bag-pipe drone to wail 
Its monotone through high, low, fast and slow. 
It has been like a secret cancer, 
Forcing all servants of the life to give 
Their work to the usurper ;  all its themes assail 
The main word Life ;  they build their archipelago 
Of poison in each sea where life was holy. 
Their questions have no answer, 
But all’s converted to the abominable 
Soul-sickening thing that one is tied to.  This is I 
Just as God in His Nature, wholly 
Involved therein, its tune, its motive, its quintessence. 
There were no meaning in Spring’s aspen spell, 
Where man’s sole treasury, the sky, 
Made bankrupt of His presence. 
Only, this God is a black fiend ;   
Of blood, the babe’s drink, weaned 
And fattened on—what liquor and meat ?  Unnameable 
By all the giant horrors that haunt hell !