So he of politics; so I of love.
I am a-many folk (let Buddha prove !)
And many a month you fooled the lot of us—
Your spell is cracked within the ring! Behold
How Christ with clay worth more than any gold
Cleared the man’s eyes! So the blind amorous
Is blinded with the horror of the truth
He sees this moment. Foolish prostitute!
You slacked your kiss upon the sodden youth
In some excess of confidence, decay
Of care to hold him—can I tell you which?
Down goes the moon—one sees the howling bitch !
The salmon you had hooked in fin and gill
You reel unskilfully—he darts away.
Alas! you devil, but you hold me still!
III.
O first and fairest of Earth’s darling daughters!
How could I sing you?—you have always seemed
Unto the saucy driveller as he dreamed
Like a rich sunset seen on tropic waters—
(Your eyes effulgent from a thousand slaughters
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