The Winged Beetle

168 IN MANU DOMINÆ (A BLACK MASS) THE pale girl with the glittering eyes Leans forward ; all her youth’s despair Stares from the fleshless face that lies ’Mid the faint flax of her hair Fallen on her foolish ’broideries : She is too deathly fair. She stares—she stares—she reads this thought, What black joy her harsh cough affirms. Life leers—a jesting Juggernaut ! Death beckons, beckons to the worms. And the smile upon his face is fraught With all its ghastly terms. Out of the glimmer and incense-reek Two clamorous colour-cries emerge. The frightful flush that stains her cheek Is the rouge of the White Scourge ; Her pallor is like a spectre sleek That dances to a dirge. Her slim transparent hand is wan As a moonstone, as blue ice !