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 !
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