The Winged Beetle

36 THE GARDEN OF JANUS The sky in ’s galleon of amber, drawn By singing winds While we wove garlands of the flowers of our minds. IV All day my lover deigned to murder me, Linking his kisses in a chain About my neck ; demon-embroidery ! Bruises like far-off mountains stain The valley of my body of ivory ! Then last came sleep. I wake, and he is gone ; what should I do but weep ? V Nay, for I wept enough—more sacred tears !— When first he pinned me, gripped My flesh, and as a stallion that rears Sprang, hero-thewed and satyr-lipped ; Crushed, as a grape between his teeth, my fears ; Sucked out my life And stamped me with the shame, the monstrous word of wife. VI I will not weep ; nay, I will follow him. Perchance he is not far, Bathing his limbs in some delicious dim Depth, where the evening star May kiss his mouth, or by the black sky’s rim He makes his prayer To the great serpent that is coiled in rapture there.