The Mother’s Tragedy

92 THE LESBIAN HELL So in a little from the silent Hell Rises a spectre, disanointed now, Who bears a cup of poison terrible, The seal of God upon his blasted brow, To whom His angels bow. Rise, Phantom disanointed, and proclaim Thine own destruction, and the sleepy death Of those material essences that flame A little moment for a little breath, The love that perisheth ! Rise, sisters, who have ignorantly striven On pale pure limbs to pasture your desire, Who should have fixed your souls on highest Heaven, And satiated your longings in that fire, And struck that mightier lyre ! Let the ripe kisses of your thirsty throats And beating blossoms of your breath, and flowers Of swart illimitable hair that floats Vague and caressing, and the amorous powers Of your unceasing hours, The rich hot fragrance of your dewy skins, The eyes that -yearn, the breasts that bleed, the thighs That cling and cluster to these infinite sins, Forget the earthlier pleasures of the prize, And raise diviner sighs;