The Equinox (Volume I, Number IX)

ROSA IGNOTA And thy scented breath That only may be known in trancéd death To me ?— Yea! And to all those That worship thee, my Rose, My Rose! My Rose! My Rose! For thou dost glance through all the veils of life, Lending thy light unwon, O subtlest syren thou, who wouldst entrance the sun! Behind what secret hill shall I find thee? In what chains shall I bind thee? O Rose! Wert thou but mine I would blind thee With the sacred sign Of five, Making thee mine. Alive Thou wouldst kill me, But dead, dead thou wouldst fill me With the low breath I seek, and I should be The incarnate spring’s gold immortality. Rose of the mire Where courses sacred fire. . . . Oh! In what far land Shall I weave thee a garland That shall contain thee, And shall not contain thee? That shall restrain thee, And shall not restrain thee? 137