Collected Works (Vol. II)

ASSUMPTA CANIDIA 27 The mystic slumber of my sense forlorn Stirs only now and then; some deeper pang Reminds despair there is a sharper fang, Reminds my night of a tempestuous morn. For I am lost and lonely: in the skies I see no hope of any sun or star ; On earth there blooms no rose, no nenu- phar; No cross is set for hope of sacrifice. I cannot sleep, I cannot wake; and death Passes me by with his desiréd breath. No shadow in my mind to prove a sun ; No sorrow to declare that joy exists ; A cycle of dim spectres in the mists Moves just a little; lastly there is One, One central Being, one elusive shape, Not to aspire to, not to love; alas! Only a memory in the aged mass Of chained ones bound to me without escape ! Oh, doom of God! Oh, brand how worse than Cain’s ! Divided being, undivided pains ! What is this life 2 No inch throughout all time.) ness Too weak and hateful to be called distress? Slow memory working backward only knows There was some horror grown to it for kin; Some final leprous growth that took my brain, Weaving a labyrinth of dullest pain From the sweet scarlet thread I thought was sin. I cannot sin! Alas, one sin were sweet ! But sin is living—and we cannot meet ! (To call it life that grows This bitter- So long ago, so miserably long ! I was a maiden—oh how rich and rare Seemed the soft sunshine woven in my hair! How keen the music of my body’s song ! How white the blossom of my body’s light ! How red the lips, how languorous the eyes, How made for pleasure, for the sleepy sighs Softer than sleep; amorous dew-dreams of night That draw out night in kisses to the day ! So was I to my seeming as I lay. That soft smooth-moving ocean of the west Under the palm and cactus as it rolled, Immortal blue, fixed with immortal gold, Moving in rapture with my sleeping breast ! The young delicious green, the drunken smell Of the fresh earth, the luxury of the glow Where many colours mingled into snow, Song-marvels in the air desirable. So lazily I lay, and watched my eyes In the deep fountain’s sun-stirred har- monies. I loved myself! O Thou! (I cried) divine Woman more lovely than the flowers of earth ! O Self-hood softer than the babe at birth, Sweeter than love, more amorous than wine, Where is thy peer upon the face of life2 I love myself, the daughter of the dawn. Come, silken night, in your deep wings withdrawn Let me be folded, as a tender wife In my own arms imagined! Let me sleep, Unwaking from the admirable deep ! My arms fell lazily about the bed. I lay in some delicious trance. I fell Deep through sleep’s chambers to the gate of Hell, And on that flaming portalice I read The legend, ‘‘ Here is beauty, here delight, Here love made more desirable than thine, Fiercer than light, more dolorous than wine. Here the embraces of the Sons of Night ! Come, sister, come; come, lonely queen of breath ! Here are the lustres and the flames of death.” Hence I was whirled, as in a wind of light, Out to the fragrance of a loftier air, A keener scent, and rising unaware Out of the Palace of Luxurious Night,