The Winged Beetle

6 ROSA COELI By the fritillary-fringéd river, Through lotus gardens of the sleepy gods, On hills where every timid oread tries Blue gentian as disguise From holier (though she think profaner) eyes, On seas where, it may be, (to even the odds !) Each nymph and undine issues from the foam Armed with a pearly mirror and with a coral comb To tire her beauty, lure me to the lakes Of light where strikes the day to hyaline floors Whereon blithe fish and emerald water snakes Play all the day, and all their innocence adores Is some old anchor with its rusty flakes Fallen from God knows what forgotten ship. No ! not in Fancy’s palace will I play, Nor in imagination’s deep will dip The timid foot ; but rather will I strip Each rag of thought, and leap Into the sunset deep Still glowing with the glamour Of your life’s blood, and ashen gold With floating gossamer your hair, that might enfold A giant god, and strangle him anon With starry serpents like Laocoon, A stoic god that might enamour And draw him with its tendrils into time. VI My mouth was wet with the delicious crime Of kissing you, one night, when in a vision