Collected Works (Vol. II)

MARGARET 63 I feel the swollen veins below The knotted throat; the ebb and flow Of blood, not milk, in breasts of fire ; Of deaths, not fluctuants, of desire ; Of molten lava that abides Deep in the vast volcanic sides; Deep scars where kisses once bit in Below young mountains that be twin, Stigmata cruciform of sin, The diary of Messaline. The moving mountains crater-crowned ; The valleys deep and silver-bound ; The girdle treacherously wound ; One violet-crested mounded mole, Some blood-stain filtered from the soul ; The light and shadow shed between My soul and God from Messaline. And even as a dark and hidden Furnace roars out in woods forbidden, A sullen tide of molten steel Runs from deep furrows in the wheel ; So from afar one central heat Sends the loud pulse to fever beat ; So from one crown and heart of fire Spring the vast phantoms of desire, Impossible and epicene, Familiar souls of Messaline. And as, when thunder broods afar Imperial destinies of war, Men see the haze and heat, and feel The sun’s rays like a shaft of steel, Seeing no sun; even so the night Clouds that deep miracle from sight : Until this destiny be done Tlangs the corona on the sun ; And I absorbed in those unclean Ghost-haunted veins of Messaline. CALIFORNIA. FORGED by God’s fingers in His furnace, Fate, My destiny drew near the glowing shore Where California hides her golden ore, [ler rubies and her beryls ; gross and great, Her varied fruits and flowers alike create Glories most unimaginable, more Than Heaven’s own meadows match ; yet this is sore, A stain; not one of these is delicate. Save only the clear green within the sea— Because that rolls all landless from Japan. I did not know until I missed it here How beautiful that beauty is to me, That life that bears Death’s sigil! traced too clear, Blue lines within the beauty that is man. MARGARET. THE moon spans Heaven’s architrave ; Stars in the deep are set ; Written in gold on the day’s grave, ‘* To love, and to forget ;” And sea-winds whisper o’er the wave The name of Margaret. A heart of gold, a flower of white, A blushing flame of snow, She moves like latticed moons of light— And O! her voice is low, Shell-murmurs borne to Amphitrite, Exulting as they go. Her stature waves, as if a flower Forgot the evening breeze, But heard the charioted hour Sweep from the farther seas, And kept sweet time within her bower, And hushed mild melodies. So grave and delicate and tall— Shall laughter never sweep Like a moss-guarded waterfall Across her ivory sleep? A tender laugh most musical? A sigh serenely deep? 1 Signature, usually applied to the supposed signatures of divine beings.