Collected Works (Vol. II)

8 ORACLES A kiss of fire ; A touch of passionate yearning Steals higher and higiier— And kisses are returning ! The strong white grasp draws me still nigher and nigher, Our fusing forms in one fierce furnace burning ! Fails to us speech In Love’s exultant leaping ! Each merved in each The golden fruit is reaping ! Wilt slumber, dear? One last kiss, I be- seech ! Come to us, Death! My love and I are sleeping! EPILOGUE TO ‘‘GREEN ALPS.”? FAREWELL, my book, whose words I have not given One tithe of those fierce fires that in me dwell ! Now, after these long nights that I have striven, Farewell ! My spirit burns to know, but may not tell, Whether thy leaves, by autumn breezes driven, Fly far away beyond the immutable ; Whether thy soul shall find its home in heaven, Or dart far-flaming through the vaults of hell— To him that loveth much is much _for- given. Farewell! 1 A volume which was never issued. MSS. and proofs have been carefully destroyed. Several of the poems in this volume are taken from that, viz. pp. 6-19. TWO SONNETS IN PRAISE OF A PUBLISHER, WHO SOUGHT TO INFECT OUR YOUTH © WITH HIS NOXIOUS WARES. The ordure of this goat, who is called ‘* Master Leonard.’’—ELIPHAZ LEVI. He’s the man for muck.— BROWNING. I. SMALL coffin-worms that burrow in thy brain Writhe with delight ; thy rotten body teems With all infesting vermin, as beseems The mirror of an obscene mind. In vain Thy misbegotten brutehood shirks the pain Of its avenging leprosies: death steams In all thy rank foul atmosphere: the gleams Of phosphorescent putrefaction wane. Thy sordid hands reach through the filth to snatch The offal money of a prurient swarm. Thy liar’s tongue licks liquid dung to hatch From fetid ulcers with its slimy warm Venom some fouler vermin, in their nest Thy rotten heart and thy polluting breast ! II. | Egg of the Slime! Thy loose abortive lips Mouth hateful things: thy shifty bloodshot eyes Lurk craftily to snare some carrion prize, The dainty morsel whence the poison drips Unmarked: the maskéd infamy that slips Into an innocent maw: corrupter wise ! Sly worm of hell! that close and cunning lies With sucking tentacles for finger-tips. Earth spits on thee, contagious Caliban ! Hell spits on thee; her sin is spiritual, Only the awful slime and excrement That sin sheds off will own thee for a man. Only the worms in dead men’s bowels that crawl To lick a loathlier brother are content.