The Winged Beetle

61 AFTER JUDGMENT So ! Thou has given Thy judgment, God ! And I am evermore accurst, Cast to the blackness of the abode By Thee—O Thou Who made me first ! Thou Who hast made me, tortured me, Mocked me with life, mocked me with death, Mocked me with love—O misery Of each god’s death, of each slave’s breath ! Yea, for that Thou didst give me her— Indeed my Dorothy ! the sun That fires my life, the spell to stir My soul’s enchantments every one : For this I curse Thee ! she was fair As day and brighter than the moon And all the gold stung in her hair ; And all the dawn of May—of June !— Kindled her cheeks ; her eyes were blue As all Thy skies, as all Thy seas. Her mouth—Oh God ! her mouth that slew Imagination’s ecstasies !