THE REAPER
The throat leans back, to tantalise the lip,
The sudden shame of her is overthrown!
O maiden of the spirit of the wheat,
One ripening sunbeam thrills thee to the soul,
Electric from red mane to amber feet!
The blue skies focus, as a burning bow],
The restless passion of the universe
Into our mutual anger and distress,
To be forbidden (the Creator’s curse)
To comprehend the other’s loveliness.
We cannot grasp the ecstasy of this;
Only we strain and struggle and renew
The utter bliss of the unending kiss,
The mutual pang that shudders through and
through,
Repeated and repeated, as the light
Can build a partial palace of the day,
So, in our anguish for the infinite,
One moment gives, the other takes away.
I, the mere rhymer, she, the queen of rhyme,
As sweeps her sickle in the falling wheat,
Her body’s sleek intoxicating time,
The music of the motion of her feet.
I swoon in that imperial embrace—
Lay we asleep till evening, or dead ?
I knew not, but the wonder of her face
Grew as the dawn and never satiated.
She knew not in her strong imperial soul
How hopeless was the slavery of life,
95