Tannhäuser

My serpent-woman, drawing out my breath Into thy life, and mingling that in mine! See the rich blood that mantles to my touch. Invites the tooth to bite the shimmering skin. Till I could watch the ripe red venom flow Slow on the hills of amber, staining them Its own warm purple. Look, the tender stream ! Venus. Let its old sleepy fragrance lull thee now. Yet madden thee in brain and sense and soul, Mixing success with infinite despair. So ; take our secret back to sleep with us :— And in that sleep I know that thou wilt choose The fact, and leave the dream, and so disdain These far-off splendours, catch the nearer joy. Take squalid kisses, banish crested love Intangible. Delights it thee, my friend. To reach the summits unattained before. And stumble on their snows ? Thine old desire Was just to touch the mere impalpable. To formulate the formless. Otherwise Christ did as well— thine own words turn again ! TannhAuser. Ah, if pure love could grow material ! There are pure women ! 56