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Page 1 of 11910 · PDF PAGE 3
…hou art sick ! The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.”—BLAKE. ROSE of the World ! If so, then what a world ! What worm at its red heart lay curled From the beginning ? Plucked and torn and trampled And utterly corrupt is she That was the queen-flower unexampled In gardens goodlier than Arcady. O Thou ! whose body was my lyre, whose soul Lay on my mouth like a live coal ! This time thou hearest not my song ; thine ears Are stopped with …
1910 · PDF PAGE 7
…asks me for my tears ? She flings the body of my sweet dead child Into my face with hell’s own epitaph, Profanes that shrine Of infinite love and infinite loss, My empty shrine, the one shrine undefiled, My one close-claspèd cross— And hers as much as mine ! Profanes it with a hideous laugh And a lie flung with a curse ; and I must hear, And must not stamp on the snake, because, forsooth This was my love, my peace, my faith, my truth, The rosebud of my youth ! It was—it is not—it can never be. This would corrupt God’s body with a breath. I see …
1910 · PDF PAGE 10
8 ROSA DECIDUA These years I have watched her fade, my masterful love And all-embracing pity strove Like athletes in an amorous bout to make Some child to tread upon that snake. But ever the worm slipped, escaped ; its spires Here crushed, there rose the stronger for the pressure That gave it purchase ; keener flamed the fires In its eyes triumphant. Now its soul asserts Its master-pleasure ; The worm exerts Its adult might, and in one bout The spine snaps of that child of Love and Pity, And mangled he falls out Of the fight. Just so child Herc…
1910 · PDF PAGE 13
… say that infinite loss is infinite loss, That tears are trivial, tears are happiness, That this blind ache is God’s last punishment For love ; that all things in that one thing shent Are damned, that had I loved her less I could have prated in some honeyed strain. Taking a subtle pleasure in my pain. It is my bulk, the mass of my intent, That makes the ruin abject. I had sung Some partial earthquake ; here the universe Crashes with one great curse, Whelming the singer and the song. My tongue Is palsied ; only this chaotic clash Of curses echoe…
1910 · PDF PAGE 6
…Glasgow’s grimiest stews, With all the knowledge of despair Striking me cunningly, striking everywhere, Mutilating the corpse of my dead love With such a savagery, Intensity above
1910 · PDF PAGE 5
…ropped all awry—first swears, Then lurches ; then she slobbers unctuously : “ I am not old : I am quite beautiful ; How have I lost your love ? ” Pitiful ! Pitiful ! Pitiful ! This is no tragedy of little tears. This worm was in her blood Lurking for thrice five years, And now I see him—that old slime that leers Where Bacchus smiles, that evil and averse God that is wholly curse,
1910 · PDF PAGE 8
…aven—and heaven’s somehow to earn, No doubt—no way that I know ! Hell’s enough If hell would only burn And silence the one devil-word of love. Ay ! death slinks off. I have a child that claims my life To keep from knowledge of her mother’s fate, To keep from heritage thereof, To shield from the world’s scoff, To watch, stamp out the seeds of madness in her. God ! that hast held me back from hate, Be merciful to me a sinner And ward me, warding her ! As it is written : Excepting Adonai build the house, they labour In vain that build it. And Agai…
1910 · PDF PAGE 11
…word it knows by intellect To be the right word—pity ! Then reflect : “ Pitiful ! Pitiful ! most pitiful ! The pity of it ! Think of the love past, Blossoms too beautiful ! Think of the hardships conquered comrade-wise ! Think of the babe and its most piteous end ! ” —All these things sound like lies. I do not comprehend Anything of them—“ Pity ! pity ! pity ! ” ’Tis like the dripping of some stagnant rain From the housetops of a ruined city Upon the flagstones. Not one petal clings Upon the stalk of life or memory. Stain Not one pale thought w…
1910 · PDF PAGE 12
10 ROSA DECIDUA I am warned—that’s one word. Let my own back feel the lash ! All power of love is burnt right through to ash. Bray it in a mortar, mix with gall and ink, And give it to the children for a drink ! I’ll wait till she is dead, to bring those tears. I doubt not in the garden of my heart Whence she is torn that flowers will bloom again. May those be flowers of weeping, flowers of art. Flowers of great tenderness and pain, Broad lilied meers Lying in a lonely leafless forest Silent and motionless beneath the moon. I feel my weakness, …