The Winged Beetle

THE PRINCESS OF PANORMITA 49 The grey cold slime of the snake That her poisonous body held ? By night I ravished a maid From her father’s camp to the cave. I bared the beautiful blade ; I dipped her thrice i’ the wave ; I slit her throat as a lamb’s, That the fount of blood leapt high With my clamorous dithyrambs Like a stain on the shield of the sky. With blood and censer and song I rent the mysterious veil : My eyes gaze long and long On the deep of that blissful bale. My cold grey kisses awake From the silence of utmost eld The grey cold slime of the snake That her beautiful body held. But—God ! I was not content With the blasphemous secret of years, The veil is hardly rent While the eyes rain stones for tears. So I clung to the lips and laughter As the storms of death abated, The storms of the grievous graft By the swing of her soul unsated.