1898 · CLOSE READING
White Stains
White Stains (1898), PDF p. 93
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THE BLOOD-LOTUS
87
The scents fulfil, they permeate all lips, all arteries,
and fire
New murmured music on the lyre that throbs the
horrors they create.
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 and silent
blasphemies
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