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Page 1 of 11901 · PDF PAGE 119
…MOUNTAIN CHRIST. WORLD of moonlight ! Visionary vale Of ocean-sleeping mountains ! Mighty chasm Within whose wild abyss there chants the pale, The dolorous phantasm Of wrecked white womanhood ! The wizard cold Grips the mute valley in his grasp of gold ! Yonder the hatred of the dismal steep Sweeps up to wrathful thunders, that are curled In billowy menace, as the deadlier deep That menaces the world With breaking foam : so hangs the glacier, rent By giant sunrays, in the frost-grip pent. Yonder again rears up the craggy wall Its cleaving head …
1901 · PDF PAGE 100
…and starless Fate Glowers like a demon brooding over death. Monstrous and mute, the slow resurgent breath Spreads forth its poison : the pale child at play Coughs in his gutter ; the hard slave of day Groans once and dies : the sickly spouse can feel The cold touch kill the unborn child, and steal Up to her broken heart : the pale hours hang Like death upon the aged : the days clang Like prison portals on the folk of day. Yet for the children of the night they play Like fountains in the moonlight : for the few, The sorrowful, sweet faces of the…
1901 · PDF PAGE 115
…ers. The mother, Midnight, has withdrawn Her slumberous kissing hours : Day springs, with footsteps as a fawn, Into her rosy bowers. The pale and holy maiden horn In highest heaven is set. My forehead, bathed in her forlorn Light, with her lips is met ; My lips, that murmur in the morn, With lustrous dew are wet. My prayer is mighty with my will ; My purpose as a sword Flames through the adamant, to fill The gardens of the Lord With music, that the air be still, Dumb to its mighty chord. I stand above the tides of time And elemental strife ; T
1901 · PDF PAGE 22
…I veil My secret of remorse ; from their keen sight And scent my poor deception takes to flight. I borrow perfume from young loves waxed pale ; I borrow music from the nightingale. In vain : she knows me, that I hate her quite. Not altogether : in my patchwork brain Some rag of passion tears its woof asunder. Strange, that its own insatiable pain Should find an opiate in her eyes of wonder ! Yes, though I hate her well enough to kill, I know that then my soul would love her still. H
1901 · PDF PAGE 123
THE HOLY OF HOLIES. 111 TO ALLAN MACGREGOR. MAN of Sorrows : brother unto Grief ! O pale with suffering, and dumb hours of pain ! O worn with Thought ! thy Godhead springs again The Soul of Resurrection : thou art chief And lord of all thy Soul : O patient thief Of God’s own fire ! What mysteries find fane In the white shrine of thy white spirit’s reign, Thou man of Sorrows : O, beyond belief ! Let God's own Peace be with thee : let thy days Prosper in spite of thine unselfish soul ; And as thou lovest, so let Love increase Upon thee and about …
1901 · PDF PAGE 44
…bride, my queen, So virginal, so keen, Swoons, while the moon-rays lean To fan their silver ship. No sleep, but precious kisses In those pale wildernesses, Mark the dead hours of night, No sleep so sweet as this is, Whose pulse of purple blisses Beats calm and cool and light. No life so fair with roses, No day so swift to close is ; No cushion so reposes Fair love so sweet and slight. Sleep greets the morn and takes us ; The wood that wonders makes us Soft noises heard above. The sunny snake forsakes us, The noon sun lastly wakes us, To watch t…
1901 · PDF PAGE 16
…lack festivals, And feasts in valleys iron-bound, Desolate crags, and barren ground ;— There in the strong storm-shaken grove Swings the pale censer-fire for love. The foursquare altar, rightly hewn, And overlaid with beaten gold, Stands in the gloom ; the stealthy tune Of singing maidens overbold Desires mad mysteries untold, With strange eyes kindling, as the fleet Implacable untiring feet Weave mystic figures manifold That draw down angels to behold The moving music, and the fire Of their intolerable desire. W
1901 · PDF PAGE 43
…ho fly about the lea ; Proclaiming things unheard, Unknown to brightest bird, Things, whose unspoken word Is utmost secrecy. So pure, so pale we lie, Like angels eye to eye, Like lovers lip to lip. So, the elect knight, I Keep vigil to the sky, While the dumb moments slip.
1901 · PDF PAGE 68
…ower. Slow and divine thy gentle breath Woos my warm throat : my spirit flies Beyond the iron walls of death, And seeks strange portals, pale and wise. My lips are fervent, as in prayer, Thy lips are parted, as to kiss : My hand is clenched upon the air, Thy hand’s soft touch, how sweet it is ! M
1901 · PDF PAGE 42
…sses shake, And through the startled brake Glides the awakened snake, Untamable and mild. The song of stars ; the wail Of women wild and pale, Forlorn and not forsaken ; The tremulous nightingale ; The waters wan that fail By frost-love overtaken, Make sacred all the valley ; And softly, musically, The breezes lull and rally, The pine stirs and is shaken. Beneath whose sombre shade I hold a lazy maid In chaste arms and too tender. Lo ! she is fair ! God said ; And saw through the deep glade How sweet she was and slender. But I—could I behold he…
1901 · PDF PAGE 140
128 THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. Nature is one with my distress. The flowers are dull, the stars are pale. I am the Soul of Nothingness. I cannot lift the golden veil. O Mother Isis, let thine eyes Behold my grief, and sympathise ! I cannot round the perfect wheel, Attain not to the fuller end. In part I love, in part I feel, Know, worship, will, and comprehend. O Mother Nephthys, fill me up Thine own perfection’s deadly cup ! My aspiration quails within me ; “ My heart is fixed,” in vain I cry ; The little loves and whispers win me : “ Eli, lama sabact…
1901 · PDF PAGE 127
THE HOLY OF HOLIES. 115 THE ATHANOR. IBERTINE touches of small fingers creep Among my curls to-night : pale ghastly kisses, Like mournful ghosts roused from their ruined sleep By clamorous cries of murder. Strange abysses Loom in the vista keen eyes penetrate, Vague forecasts of immeasurable fate. O thou belovéd blood, that wells and weeps ! O thou belovéd mouth, that beats and bleeds ! O mystic bosom where some serpent sleeps, Sweet mockery of a thousand saintlier creeds ! Even I, that breathe your perfume, taste your breath, Know, even this h…
1901 · PDF PAGE 60
…allop—how the breakers gallop, Grinding to dust the unresisting shore, A moon-mad thought to wander in the shallop ! Act—think no more ! Pale as a ghost I leave the sounding coast, The waters white with moonrise. I embark, Float on to the horizon as a ghost, Confront the dark. The cadent curve of Dian seems to swerve, Eluding helmcraft : let me drift away Where sea and sky unite their clamorous curve In praise of Day. Is it an edge ? Some spray-bechiselled ledge ? Some sentry platform to an under sky ? Let me drift onward to the azure edge— I c…
1901 · PDF PAGE 26
…. Only to me her eyelids sever And lips respire her equal breath ; Still in the unknown star I see The very god that is of me. The day’s pale countenance is lifted, The rude sun’s forehead he uncovers ; No soft delicious clouds have drifted, No wing of midnight’s bird that hovers ; Yet still the hard blind blue is rifted, And still my star and I as lovers Yearn to each other through the sky With eyes half closed in ecstasy. Night, Night, O mother Night, descend ! O daughter of the sleeping sea ! O dusk, O sister-spirit, lend Thy wings, thy shad…
1901 · PDF PAGE 39
…these admit My lordship over her—and it. The host is lifted up. Behold The vintage spilt, the broken bread ! I feast upon the cruel cold Pale body that was ripe and red. Only, her head, her palms, her feet, I kissed all night, and did not eat. So, and not otherwise, the word Of God was utterly fulfilled. So, and not otherwise. I heard Her spirit cry, by death not stilled : “ My sin is perfect in thy blood, And thou and I have conquered God.” Now let me die, at last desired, At last beloved of thee my queen ; Now let me die, with blood attired, …
1901 · PDF PAGE 133
…iation, when the whole Body is torn with sundering pangs, and I, The very conscious essence of the soul, Am rent with agony, as when the pale Christ heard the shriek of the dividing veil. That awful mystery, its heart torn out, Palpitates on the altar-stone of life : That broken self, that hears the triumph-shout Of its own voice beneath the falling knife,
1901 · PDF PAGE 80
68 THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. Friend, hast thou heard the wailing of the damned ? Friend, hast thou listened when a murderer shammed Pale smiles amid his fellows as they spoke Low of his crime : his fear is like to choke His palsied throat. How, if Hell’s gate were slammed This very hour upon thy womanfolk ? Conceive, I charge thee ! Brace thy spirit up To drink at that imagination’s cup ! Then, shriek, and pass ! For thou shalt understand A little of the pressure of the hand That crushed me now. Yes, yes ! let fancy sup That grislier banquet than old…