Collected Works (Vol. II)

}fe) ORACLES All on their sides are the wounds of lust Wet, 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, Mingle, and meet, and sow never a seed ! Mingle, and tingle, and kiss, and bleed With the blood of the life of the Lampsa- cene,! ) With the teeth that know never a pitiful deed . But fret and foam over with kisses obscene— Mingle and weep for what years have been. Never a son nor a daughter grow From your waste limbs, lest the goddess weep; Fill up the ranks from the babes that sleep Far in the arms of a god of snow. Conquer the world, that her throne may keep _- More of its pride, and its secret woe Flow through all earth as the rivers flow. Which of the gods is like thee, our queen? . Venus Callipyge, nameless, nude, Thou with the knowledge of all indued, Secrets of life and the dreams that mean Loves that are not, as are mortals’, hued All rose and lily, but linger unseen, Passion-flowers purpled, garlands of green ! ‘Who like thyself shall command our ways? Who has such pleasures and pains for hire ? Who can awake such a mortal fire In the veins of a man, that deathly days Have robbed of the masteries of desire? Who can give garlands of fadeless bays Unto the sorrow and pain we praise? 1 Priapus. Yea, we must praise, though the deadly shade . Fall on the morrow, though fires of hell Harrow our vitals; a miracle Springs at thy kisses, for thou hast made Anguish and sorrow desirable ; Torment of hell as the leaves that fade Quickly forgotten, despised, decayed. They are decayed, but thou.springest again, Mother of mystery, barren, who bearest Fidwers of most comeliest children, who wearest . Wounds for delight, whose desire shall stain Star-space with blood as the price thou sharest Sweet with thy lovers, whose passing pain Ripens to marvellous after-gain. Thou art the fair, the wise, the divine | Thou art our mother, our goddess, our life ! Thou art our passion, our sorrow, our strife! Thou, on whose forehead no lights ever shine, Thou, our redeemer, our mistress, our wife, Thou, barren sister of deathlier brine, Venus Callipyge, mother of mine! Daughter of Lust by the foam of the sea! Mother offame! Sister of shame! Tiger that Sin nor her son cannot tame ! Worship to thee! Glory to thee! Venus Callipyge, mother of me. THE CANNIBALS. ALL night 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