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52 YET TIME TO TURN O little root of nobleness left thus Dead, since it has no power to grow, to bloom ; Live, since I may not bury it within The gaping tomb Where virtue lies, that I, imperious, Long since interred with hope, and all life’s joy save sin.
… bodies, and with musical Loud voices raised the chant of funeral, Turned to fierce blasphemies, and words obscene. Nine hours we lay as dead, and then my queen Writhed in my arms again, and blood leapt up To our fresh kisses to fill full the cup Of horror to the brim. Again as dead Were we borne forth, and then—Can I forget ? I gripped thy glossy throat. My fingers met Crushing through the skin and muscle, nerve and vein, And in that supreme agony of pain I drained myself of lust ! That final clasp Was consummated in thy dying gasp ! The frigh…
…trils sniff the luxury Of flesh decaying, bowels torn Of festive worms, like Venus, born Of entrails foaming like the sea. Yea, thou art dead. Thy buttocks now Are swan-soft, and thou sweatest not ; And hast a strange desire begot In me, to lick thy bloody brow ;
…e scythe of Time Sweeps on to cut the new-born flowers in twain That symbolizes the reluctant hour In which we met—and now the flower is dead And we must part. He. Fond hearts, chaste souls, as one Whose unity is sacred, still shall dwell Together—Not the cold embrace Of “ We shall meet again ”, but let us say The ritual of a lover, being this “ God be with you ! ” She. O heart too dear to me, Too much beloved for lover’s tongue to tell, God be with you ! Farewell, sweet heart ! He. Farewell. (EXEUNT). BESUNT CETERA.
…e thee life, life passeth by ; I gave thee youth, that youth is fled. Thinkst thou that I will fructify Now, at thine own good time, thy dead And barren bed ? “ How worship me, yet break my laws ? Art thou a God ? Didst thou devise The infinite world ? Did thy word cause The silver Caucasus to arise ? Art thou all-wise ? “ Or hast thou mocked me, setting high A molten calf, a graven block,
…these songs sublime. The rod Gains new desire ; dive, howl, cling, suck, Rave, shriek, and chew ; excite the fuck, Hold me, I come ! I’m dead ! My God !
… T. B. B. Thou wouldst not do. And shall the King Of Kings do only what men ask ? Thou empty mask ! “ Repentance is too late, lost fool, Dead flower, salt fountain, rusty sword, This curse is on thee for thy dule, That thou shalt know and be assured I am the Lord.” The loud-voiced choir would drown in song The voice of God ; their music woke Echoes through chancel weird and long— In thunder and fierce fire and smoke Jehovah spoke. “ On with the farce ! My perjured priests, The wolves that raven through my flock, Nay, wolves in shepherd’s garb, …
…ate. Omniscient blossom ! Is thy red slack bosom fresher for my kiss ? Are thy loves sharper ? Hast thou bliss in all the sorrows of the dead ? Why art thou paler when the moon grows loftier in the troublous sky ? Why dost thou beat and heave when I press lips of fire, hell’s princeliest boon, To thy mad petals, green and gold like angels’ wings, when as a flood God’s essence fills them, and the blood throughout their web grows icy cold ? To thy red centre are my eyes held fast and fervent, as at night Some sad miasma lends a light of strange a…
…less foam of a sterile sea, Wanton waves of a vain desire, Maddening billows flecked with fire, Storms that lash on the brine, and flee, Dead delights, insatiate ire Broke like a flower to the birth of thee, Venus Callipgye, mother of me !
… feet to-day Offering to crown my head withal, and said : “ The year is young, it is the time of May, Autumn is distant, and the winter, dead ” And would therewith my brows have garlanded But that I asked him “ Is not this a fire To burn the scorched brain through my maddened head ? Thou has a guerdon, is it not for hire ? ” Fame brought a golden crown, bejewelled o’er With precious rubies beyond price, and cried “ The world is young, thy name shall evermore Ring in men’s ears, stately and glorified ” But I, with shuddering lips, to him replied…
… no change, no whisper. Scarce a breath But lips closed hard upon the cup of death To drain its sweetest poison. Scarce a sigh Beats the dead hours out ; scarce a melody Of measured pulses quickened with the blood Of that desire which pours its deadly flood Through soul and shaken body ; scarce a thought But sense through spirit most divinely wrought To perfect feeling ; only through the lips Electric ardour kindles, flashes, slips Through all the circle to her lips again And thence, unwavering, flies to mine, to drain All pleasure in one draug…
…n the glories Fierce of a triple embrace, a fadeless implacable bliss. Love is a sword whose blade is red, Love is a deed whose fruit is dead ; Love is a tiger, fierce of power, Easily fades a spring-tide flower. Death shall come slow and soft, with the stealthy tread of a leopard ; While the few stars have grown dim, as he seeks for an innocent prey. Death shall pounce soon on the fold, where Love was a treacherous shepherd ; So with hot lips shall he come, ere the mountains are silver and grey. Life shall gasp out in the gloom, and all our de…
…and as poppies red ; They lie in a furious barren bed ; They lie on their faces, their eyelids lack Tears, and their cheeks are as roses dead ; White are their throats, but upon the back Red blood is clotted in gouts of black. All on their sides are the wounds of lust, Down, from the home of their auburn hair Down to the feet that we find so fair ; Where the red sword has a secret thrust Pain, and delight, and desire they share. Verily, pain ! and thy daughters trust Thou canst bid roses spring out of dust. Mingle, ye children of such a queen, …
…naw my bones, nor quench The fires of torture with the sickly stench Of many a venomed drug, that clings and cleaves, An clutches like a dead man’s hand, and weaves Its subtle scheme of agony through me. Is God to help a mortal ? Or are we Caught in Fate’s mesh without a hope to ’ scape ? Ah ! look around ! In every darksome shape ! Fearful, nude Venus grins. Alcyone Mocks with her sickening smile. Hill, moor, and lea Make me to hate them. Only Clytie there, Wild arms thrown wide, an agony of hair Streamed fierce behind her, seems to sympathize…
…hy flesh, While blood and sweat begat desire afresh, And yet twelve times the black womb vomited, And we lay there chilled bitterly, and dead,